#ch: rhaenys targaryen

[levithestripper]

aemond was really hot this episode. i like seeing him desperate and pathetic <3 i really don’t think aemond would kill aegon like larys suggests, i think that’s just larys trying to manipulate aegon.

sunfyre being dead makes no sense. it better just be aegon thinking sunfyre is dead instead of it being a confirmed death.

CORLYS NAMED HIS SHIP AFTER RHAENYS KILLING ME WOULD BE LESS PAINFUL.

oh my god poor tyland is going through it my poor little meow meow.

i love that they show the dyed hair in essos.

DAENERYS???? im sorry what the hell was that vision. we didn’t need that it was pointless. targaryen’s have been misinterpreting dreams of dragons for generations this isn’t of any importance for the dance. showing visions of daemon’s impending death is so dumb, leave us in suspense please???? if you have to talk about how he dies, do it how helaena does with aemond.

not getting a rhaenicent kiss is homophobic 👎🏻

very cool ending montage. i like seeing all sides of the war gear up and get ready for shit to get real. very pretty cinematography.

TESSARION???? WAS THAT TESSARION???? IT LOOKED LIKE HIM DOES THAT MEAN WE FINALLY GET TO SEE MY BOY DAERON NEXT SEASON????

[unbeleveable]

I really could talk forever about how 'othered' Rhaenys is from her biological house. Like, yes, she still uses her royal title and her father's surname, she's never going to give those up because why should she? But the minute the Great Council made its decision, she put a wall up between herself and her cousins (the wall was already up with Jaehaerys since the first time he refused her). She stopped wearing the red and black of House Targaryen and opted for the blues of House Velaryon. The house that had accepted her as one of its own and allowed her to build a family within it. It isn't until her importance reemerges (both the Blacks and the Greens covet her allegiance, establishing the fact that she is a FORCE) that she allows herself to be drawn back into the fold.

Mind, she only takes sides to protect the grandbabies at first, but there has to be something said for the fact that Rhaenyra treats her with the respect she deserves and all but officially names her Hand. It's all a great boon to her wounded pride and I think that needs to be acknowledged as having something to do with how things unfold. She is all about her family, yes, but she is also a proud woman and Rhaenyra caters to that and Alicent tries to do the same.

[stromuprisahat]

With Lord Corlys came his wife, Princess Rhaenys, five-and-fifty, her face lean and lined, her black hair streaked with white, yet fierce and fearless as she had been at two-and-twenty. “The Queen Who Never Was,” Mushroom calls her.

The Princess and the Queen × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Tiny detail, but once again, I prefer the line from novella:

... a woman sometimes known among the smallfolk as “The Queen Who Never Was.”

[unbeleveable-archive]

It truly baffles me that anyone thinks Rhaenys was at King's Landing to support Vaemond's claim to Driftmark. She was there to promote that of the girls as well as her own in their stead. Like, if she hadn't proposed the idea, how do you think Alicent knew enough about her desires to use it as a bargaining chip later? Plus the, "And I must stand alone" line? Yeah no girl was out for herself and her granddaughters.

[vi0light]

tag drop !!

[unbeleveable]

Rhaenys reached for her granddaughter's had, giving it a squeeze. "You are no victim," she assured Rhaena, her voice firm. "You have suffered, yes, but you have also survived." Just like she herself had, despite all the pain the gods had inflicted on her. "That is what we do in this family."

"i'm so tired of being the girl that i am. every good thing has turned into something i dread, and i'm playing the victim so well in my head." ——— ♫ making the bed by olivia rodrigo ♫

@unbeleveable - for rhaenys ! spotify wrapped starter call.

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[sapphicapocrypha]

Silver Hair & White Milk

Rhaenys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

After the birth of baby Laenor, Rhaenys needs her maid’s help.

tags: praise, pregnancy k!nk, lactation k!nk/breastfeeding, threesome (only Ch. 2) — someone had to take one for the team and write this

wc: 1,269

________________________________________

Evenings were peaceful on Driftmark. You moved about your Princess’ bedchamber with quiet efficiency, having just dressed her for bed after she had settled her newborn son, Laenor.

You felt her tender eyes on you as you put hairbrush, clothes, and jewels back into their designated place. It had taken Rhaenys long to settle the boy tonight and she was spent, so the least you could do was to make her comfortable and put everything in order—not that it was not your responsibility to begin with, as her lady’s maid.

You watched her in the reflection of the mirror, how she kept checking on the babe, and the fondness washed over you, remembering the unusual birth. Lord Corlys had been summoned by the king at short notice the day before Rhaenys had gone into labour.

... continue

[levithestripper]

this was the best episode of the season so far, and my favorite.

aemond’s battle with rhaenys and meleys has me on the edge of my seat the entire time. it was beautifully shot and eve best stole every scene she was in. i felt the despair she felt when she fell from the sky so viscerally i wanted to cry.

the way i SCREAMED when i saw vhagar emerge from the forest was pathetic.

aegon was so good this episode he is such a complex character and i love seeing how tom acts out aegon’s emotions so openly, compared to how aemond keeps his emotions guarded behind an iron wall.

criston finding out the horrors of dragon warfare was beautiful, i love seeing him experience the consequences of his actions lmao. the horse standing alone beside his dead rider made me unreasonablely sad :(

[unbeleveable]

"I once wanted to do the same to Harrenhal," Rhaenys replied softly, calmly. "After the Great Council." It was the first time she had ever admitted this to anyone. "But in the end, I decided that peace was better for the realm than me starting a civil war. You, Rhaenyra, have been left with no choice, but I still suggest you tread with caution. The smallfolk need reason to love you in a way they do not love Aegon, not fear you."

@unbeleveable sent 🎁 from rhaenys for #44 your betrayal by bullet for my valentine

" SOAK the place and LIGHT the flame. "

[unbeleveable]

open ;; rhaenys

"Princess," Rhaenys corrected, not without a faint air of hauteur, "if we are going by formalities." There were many a time where she allowed 'my lady' as a form of address, given that she was also Lady of Driftmark, but today she would press the matter of her royal status.

[stromuprisahat]

Pretty bummed Rhaenys and Corlys didn’t get to race to the end of the world.

Rhaenys, at six-and-ten, was a fearless young beauty, and more than a match for her mariner. A dragonrider since the age of thirteen, she insisted upon arriving for the wedding on Meleys, the Red Queen, the magnificent scarlet she-dragon that had once borne her aunt Alyssa. “We can go back to the ends of the earth together,” she promised Ser Corlys. “But I’ll get there first, as I’ll be flying.”

Also love that Rhaenys just had to fly to her wedding, and Corlys probably loved her even more for it.

[unbeleveable-archive]

🕯️ Aemma for Rhaenys

Rhaenys truly believes that Aemma is the best of them. Her sweet nature, lack of the notorious Targaryen temper, makes her far more amiable than the rest of the family. In that regard she sees Aemma taking after their grandmother, which she envies a little. She was raised at Alysanne's knee but wishes she had learned more of their grandmother's gentle temperament along with her pieces of wisdom. Perhaps then she would have been chosen instead of Viserys.

[unbeleveable]

Her expression was one of tearful gratitude as she reached for her father's hand, squeezing gently. Only the needs of her newborn daughter had kept Rhaenys from sitting by his bedside day and night during the weeks where he walked that narrow path the prince had just referred to. She had been brought to bed a week after he had been carried back from Tarth. It had been too early, but Laena had emerged with strong lungs and a soundly beating heart.

"As soon as you are well enough, Father, I have someone else hale and healthy who I would very much like you to meet," Rhaenys teased, violet eyes crinkling a little. She knew her father had wished for a grandson, but she doubted not that he would shower his granddaughter with love, as he had always done her.

@korzion asked: "it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again." (for papa aemon in a context where he is injured but doesn't die?)

Aemon   stirred,   the   lingering   haze   of   slumber   dissipating   as   his   daughter’s   words   reached   him.   Her   voice,   a   melody   he   had   thought   he   might   never   hear   again,   filled   the   chamber   with   a   warmth   that   felt   almost   foreign.   He   opened   his   eyes   fully,   and   there   she   was—Rhaenys,   hair   cascading   over   her   shoulders,   her   eyes   bright   and   unyielding   despite   the   gentle   smile   she   wore.

For   a   moment,   Aemon   could   not   speak.   Throat   sore,   as   he   brings   a   hand   to   his   gauced   neck.   He   studied   her   face,   the   lines   of   concern   etched   faintly   there,   the   way   her   hands   rested   in   her   lap,   clasped   tightly   as   if   to   steady   herself.   He   reached   out,   his   fingers   brushing   against   hers.

“And   it   brings   me   much   relief,”   he   said,   his   voice   rasping   from   disuse,   “to   find   myself   alive   to   see   you   here,   Rhaenys.”   He   managed   a   faint   smile,   though   it   faltered   under   the   weight   of   what   he   had   endured.   “I   have   seen   many   dreams   in   my   time,   some   dark   and   cruel,   but   none   so   vivid   as   the   one   where   I   feared   I’d   left   you   all   behind.”

“I   have   walked   a   narrow   path   between   this   world   and   the   next.   But   I   am   here   now,   and   for   that,   we   must   both   be   grateful.”he   murmured,   his   voice   carrying   the   weight   of   a   father’s   pride   and   affection.   “You   are   hale   and   strong,   as   you’ve   always   been.   Seeing   that   gives   me   all   the   strength   I   need   to   recover   fully.”

[sansa286]

F&B Propaganda: Paternity Disputes (or Lack Thereof)

Something that's always confused me when reading Fire & Blood is why some characters have their paternity placed under scrutiny due to a lack of resemblance to one parent, while others are given a pass. These are some thoughts and analysis I had on the subject.

So, we all know F&B is a pseudo-history book written from a plethora of unreliable pseudo-sources, some of whom very well may be telling the truth, other's who are fibbing a bit (or a lot), and the rest that told flat-out lies and regurgitated gossip. Therefore, certain inconsistencies, like paternity debates, are not showing that GRRM is an inconsistent writer, but rather him pointing out the blatant favoritism and narrative spinning that happens when history is written. Simply put: unless/until we get the events of F&B written in an ASOIAF style multi-POV structure, most of the stuff in F&B is meant to be taken with a grain of salt, some grains bigger than others. For example: Visenya being "jealous" of Rhaenys over Aegon preferring her romantically is clearly out-of-character, but treated as legit because Visenya is not a well-liked person in the grand-scheme of Westerosi history and culture. Therefore, painting her as envious is a way to spin her as "bitter" and "unlikable," when she more than likely just had a lot of ambition, and/or did what she thought was right for the Targaryen cause (flawed those actions may be).

We all know Rhaenyra was the subject of side-eyes over her three eldest sons, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon, and Joffrey Velaryon, who are officially recorded as sons of Laenor Velaryon; however, it's widely believed (and canon in the show) that they are biologically the sons of Harwin Strong, who Rhaenyra had an affair with because Laenor was gay and their attempts to conceive children were not successful. The reason in-universe people believed (both in the books and the show) that they were Harwin's is due to their dark hair and eyes (Harwin has green eyes in the show, but in the books it's inferred that they're brown like the Velaryon boys'.)

However, the Velaryon boys are not the only ones who don't share the same coloring as their parents (or the parents on paper). There are actually two others that come before them in the Targaryen bloodline that share that in common, however their paternity is never called into question. They are Alysanne and her daughter, Alyssa.

Biblically accurate Alysanne Targaryen. "Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls." - Fire & Blood (pg. 131, ch. "The Year of the Three Brides")

Alysanne is the fifthborn child and secondborn daughter of Aenys Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon. Her older siblings were Aegon, Rhaena, Viserys, Jaehaerys (who she married), and Vaella (passed away in the crib). All of Aenys and Alyssa's children are inferred to have had stereotypically Valyrian features (silver hair and purple eyes); Rhaena is the only one we get a full description of outside of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but if the others didn't look Valyrian, it definitely would've been noted in the book. Aenys and Alyssa are noted for both having Valyrian features (par. 3 here & F&B p. 127; Aenys weirdly enough never gets hair color mention, but if it were anything other than silver we'd know, but we'll get to Aenys in a minute). We're told explicitly Alysanne has a head full of honey colored curls and blue eyes. But this is never brought up as a point of contention or placed her paternity up for debate. It's just assumed that it's due to her maternal grandmother, Alarra Massey, being an Andal woman.

However, this assumption is never mentioned in F&B. Her features are just mentioned and that was it. The theory laid-out by fans is that her hair and eyes come from her grandmother, however, Alarra's looks are never detailed in F&B. We only know that she was considered very beautiful (p. 127); and there are plenty of people of Andal descent who do not have blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Her [Alyssa Targaryen] hair was a dirty blonde tangle with no hint of silver to evoke the dragonlords of old, and she had been born with mismatched eyes, one violet, the other a startling green." - Fire & Blood (pg. 287, ch. "The Long Reign-Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny, and Pain")

Which brings me to her daughter, Alyssa Targaryen, who was also noted for having non-traditional Valyrian features (dirty blonde hair, green and purple heterochromia eyes). But Alyssa's paternity is also never brought up as possibly being anything other than what was recorded at her birth. (As for the show, Daemon's perspective on his mother is warped due to being knee-deep in the Targaryen sauce, so that's why I think his mother doesn't look like what she's supposed to in the show. If they ever do an adaptation of Jaehaerys' reign, I hope they don't throw a silver wig on her, but given what they did to Rhaenys who tf knows?) Interestingly, Alyssa is also described as long-faced, which is a trait associated with the Starks, and Alysanne was noted for being close to...Alaric Stark (I'll spare you that theory though.)

This is all fascinating with the knowledge of the dance being in the exact same book, because Rhaenyra has three dark haired and dark eyed boys and there's all of this speculation. Some may assume it's because both Rhaenyra and Laenor have silver hair and purple eyes, but so did Alysanne's parents, Aenys and Alyssa V. And like their great-great grandmother, Alysanne (if we're to believe she simply looks like her grandmother), Jace, Luke, and Joff also have a grandmother with non-Valyrian looks in Rhaenys, who in F&B had dark hair. There is no report of catching Rhaenyra and Harwin screwing around, jut observing the differences in looks of her children and Laenor. Surely, if we're to never assume that Alysanne is not a bastard because her grandmother (may have) had the same features/genes that simply skipped a generation, we could also do the same for them?

Sidebar: I am not saying that Alysanne is secretly a bastard or that the Velaryon boys' actually are trueborn, just that the reasons for this assumption are silly. If one kid is going to have their paternity scrutinized for not resembling their parents coloring-wise, then all kids who fall in that category should. That being said it is important to point out that it's not IMPOSSIBLE for Alysanne and the boys being/ not being a bastard to be true. It's been pointed out for years by the fandom that the people in ASOIAF don't understand genetics. The only reason Ned had a leg to stand on is because Cersei straight-up admitted to sleeping with Jaime, and letting him father her kids. Had Ned realistically went to Robert without Cersei's admission, and said that her children are not his because they have blonde hair and green eyes, he would be laughed at because a child resembling their mother and not their father is common. And on the off-chance that he does get some traction with it, well, not enough people would believe him, and Tywin would make a bigger example out of House Stark than he already has.

But again, secret-bastardy/secret-trueborness is not the point I'm trying to make. And if Alysanne were really a secret bastard, then, honestly, more power to her. She'd only become more iconic in my eyes.

So this begs the question: why are some people not speculated on for not resembling one or both parents coloring-wise while others aren't? It brings me back to the introduction: F&B is propaganda and certain pseudo-historical figures need to be portrayed in a certain light in order for the story they want to tell to be successful. This goes doubly-so for those that were close to Jaehaerys, and in this case: his mom (Alyssa V), his wife (Alysanne), and his daughter (Alyssa T).

Jaehaerys is considered the peak of the Targaryen dynasty and well liked by the establishment in Westeros (the Citadel, the Faith, various lords and ladies of the major houses). He is the Great Conciliator. Therefore, certain "creative liberties" being afoot is quite expected and this is not above the antics we see take place during his reign. Just look at how the true cause of Gael's death was covered up for years and the fishiness of Saera's disappearance and Viserra's death.

Alyssa V is considered a perfect mother, despite the less-than-stellar choices she made with her children outside of Jaehaerys. She's considered to be so great that the lords that sat the Small Council were able to put aside their misogyny and allow themselves to be ruled by a woman until Jaehaerys came of age. She is one of the main reasons Jaehaerys was able to take the Iron Throne in the first place. It would not go well if the man who was considered to be the greatest king of Westeros had a mother who may have cuckolded his father. Compare this to Aenys, who despite having Valyrian features had a one-off rumor about him being the secret bastard of Rhaenys the Conqueror and one of her male favorites mentioned in F&B; and this is 100% due to the fact that Aenys is considered by Westerosi historians to have been a weak and incompetent king. (Just think: if Aenys, who resembled his parents, had bastard rumors - do you seriously expect us to believe that neither Alysanne nor Alyssa ever had any?) "But, Jaehaerys is strong, brave, diplomatic, wise, etc... of course he comes from a mom who embodies Westerosi ideals to a tea. She even died trying to give her second husband more heirs despite her delicate age. Such a moral [debatable] man could only be born from a woman who was nothing but dutiful."

Alysanne is considered the perfect wife and queen consort, highly regarded for the active role she took during her husband's reign. She was intelligent, altruistic, birthed many children, and rode a dragon. She was so good at her job as queen she got several laws passed that now share her name. "Not only could such a woman not be born a bastard, but she in addition to being Jaehaerys' wife is also his sister, and could surely not be born from a woman who would ever risk bringing a bastard into this world."

And then, there's Alyssa T, the secondborn daughter and fifthborn child overall of both Alysanne and Jaehaerys, and was a wife to the highly regarded Baelon (also her brother), which means she was never going to be on the receiving end of those accusations. She even escapes having the usual witchcraft practitioner and/or lesbian/queer rumors that are usually thrown at women in Westeros who do not fit the traditional ideas of being a woman (even Visenya had those accusations). Her preferring boyish activities is never painted as a negative by the narrative unlike with other women in Westerosi culture. "Of course she's straight as an arrow and brags about how much sex she's having with her well-beloved and cherished-by-all brother-husband who was considered a peak heir and would neverrrrrr marry a bastard. Of course she thought most girls were idiots. Of course she brags about how many sons (never daughters) she's going to give her husband. Of course she does not care about anything outside of being a broodmare after being married like all good girls do. Bastard? Never. Two of her grandsons were kings we fondly remember. She is trueborn like her mother. She is Athena if she fucked."

But Jace, Luke, and Joff? Their mother was the first ever female heir apparent (not presumptive, apparent) to the Seven Kingdoms, and kept this status even after her father had three sons. She never apologized for this. And she entered a war over for her claim. "She wore a braid like that crazy warrior-witch Queen Visenya. She's breaking tradition by going ahead of her brothers in succession. She's bitchy sometimes. She's not thin like good women are supposed to be even after birthing several children. Speaking of children, yeah she did her duty and had many male heirs but some of them have dark hair and she's a whore, so they must be bastards. She's trying to take over a man's place. Of course she's evil and reveled in the deaths of her baby nephews. Of course she fucks outside of marriage. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if they weren't bastards!"

TL;DR: F&B uses paternity debates as a way to attempt to delegitimize/sow doubt against people the narrators don't like, this only prove by how inconsistent one's potentially faulty paternity is evoked on the basis of looks and nothing else. The chances of any of your trueborn faves secretly being a bastard is never zero. Now, I kind of want Alysanne to be a secret bastard.

UPDATE Sept. 5, 2024: Edited for grammar, word-flow, and minor spelling mistakes.

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 10 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

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Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Public humiliation, blood, rough hardcore smut, asphyxiation, anal sex, BDSM, degradation kink, praise kink, blood play

Chapter 10 - The Kneeling Queen

Aemond and Ser Criston intended to make a show of their victory to the small folk of King’s Landing. Cole sent his men to take the head off of Meleys. Maelessa found it sick and perverse, but in the moment she didn’t dare to say anything that would anger Aemond. He leaned down and grabbed her foot.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” she asked when he yanked off her boot. He tossed it into the forest and pulled the other off as well, then her hose, leaving her feet bare to the rough charred grass.

“Do you remember what else you told me?” he asked, standing straight again. He held his hand out and a soldier tossed him some rope.

“What?” Maelessa asked nervously.

“You said if I wanted to parade you naked through the streets, you would go willingly,” he reminded her, making a loop out of the rope and throwing it around her neck, tightening it.

“And is that what you intend to do?” she wondered. Aemond shook his head.

“Not naked, just barefoot. I’m the only one who gets to look upon you naked. But the people need a show. Who better than my sweet little princess to flaunt as my spoils of war? The pretender’s daughter. I do hope you’ll forgive me for chaining Catlys to Vhagar.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tugged at the rope around her neck until he deemed it snug enough.

“All you’ve ever done and all you ever will do, it’s all already forgiven. My king,” Maelessa breathed, receiving another kiss in response. The army then began to march, with Aemond and Criston at the front. Aemond had picked Maelessa up and placed her in front of him on his horse, and so they were off. When the two of them were out of ear’s way from the others, she asked.

“What happened to Aegon?”

A hint of a smirk grazed Aemond’s lips and he looked at her.

“Do you want to know what to tell people or what truly happened?” he asked. Maelessa frowned. She had a feeling the stories would be vastly different.

“Both.”

“You’ll tell people that Aegon and Rhaenys fought with their dragons, and that Aegon fought valiantly, but was overpowered. Meleys burned him, but he managed to slay both dragon and rider before his dragon fell from the sky.” Aemond sounded convincing, but still she doubted the truth of it all.

“And your part in it all?”

“Hm. I had no part in it. Unless of course, you want to know the truth. In that case, It was I who burned Aegon. He wasn’t supposed to show up here like an idiot and spoil it all, so I seized the opportunity to take him out. I would have finished the job too if Cole hadn’t come into the woods. I’m the one who killed Rhaenys and Meleys as well. Aegon is incompetent, he never would have succeeded on his own. I had half a mind to let the fool try, though,” he explained. Maelessa gulped, a wave of sadness washing over her. Rhaenys was kind and fierce, and her dragon Meleys was delightful. Maelessa hated the thought of dragons dying, but it all brought them closer to their goal, so she shrugged off the sadness and looked forward instead. Soon, their time would come.

It was days before they reached King’s Landing. Maelessa leaned back and slept with her head resting against Aemond’s chest. They stopped occasionally to rest and to eat, but in a rush to get back to the capital, the stops were short. Once, Maelessa woke, on horseback, to Aemond sneaking his fingers under her dress to finger her. During one of the stops, he had led her by the make-shift leash into a grove, shoved her dress up to her hips and taken her hard from behind, not caring that a bunch of soldiers saw them. In fact, he said it would do them good to watch him fuck his spoils of war. Something about battle morale and inspiring them. Maelessa had come three times, screaming his name and calling him her Master for all to hear. While they marched, Vhagar flew above them, and chained to her tail was Catlys. Despite the chain, the bat-like dragon only seemed happy flying after her giant friend.

Finally they arrived outside the gates of the capital. Aemond helped Maelessa off the horse and tightened the rope-leash around her neck. After having sat by his side for days, now she was relegated to walking after his horse while he had her leashed. Aemond and Criston rode at the front, with Maelessa behind. After them was the head of Meleys, and in the back a wagon covered in fabric for none to see. Inside lay the grievously wounded Aegon. His dragon had been left behind at Rook’s Rest, presumed dead or dying.

The cobblestone was hot under Maelessa’s feet, making the walk uncomfortable. Whenever she slowed, Aemond would yank at the rope, forcing her forward. The small folk of the city came to watch, covering their mouths at the sight. 

“Behold the traitor dragon, Meleys, slain by king Aegon!” one soldier shouted.

“Behold the bastard daughter of Rhaenyra the Cruel, Maelessa Velaryon! Captured by prince Aemond!” another yelled. Aemond raised the hand holding the leash, making her stumble, and some in the crowd cheered. Embarrassment burned her cheeks at being paraded around like a trophy, made to scrape her bare feet against the stone streets. But she couldn’t deny the growing ache between her legs either. She looked up at Aemond, who looked so strong and regal. Victorious. He would claim her upon their return to the castle, making all of this worth it.

She yelped in pain as she stepped on a bit of glass. Aemond gave her no choice but to keep walking, the leash tightening around her throat when she stopped. The shard of glass cut into her foot and she left bloody footprints in her wake.

The crowd of people laughed at her and cheered for Aemond. One man emboldened by it all threw a pebble at her, and it hit her in the chest making her yelp. At this, Aemond ripped his dagger out of its sheath and gave the commoner a clear warning. It was a warning to them all, as well as a reminder to Maelessa that she was always safe with him, that he looked out for her despite how it may look to others at the moment. It made her feel warm inside and if it wasn’t for the pain in her feet, she would have smiled. No one threw anything else at her, but they continued to mock and laugh. Their voices faded from her head and soon all she could think about were her burning feet. She whined and whimpered when stones and gravel pressed into her skin, the shard of glass went deeper in, and somehow both her feet bled when they finally saw the castle. In this moment she truly felt owned, like Aemond’s property, and despite the pain, it empowered her. She sniffled and wiped her tears, giving the people even more to look at.

Despite the small folk cheering for Aemond, they quieted when they saw the dragon head, surrounded with flies being dragged through the streets. Some called it a black omen, and none seemed to cheer, all seemed horrified by it. Maelessa was as well. If she had felt more confident she would have counselled Aemond against the action. A Targaryen should treat dragons with reverence, not flaunt their heads in the street. Right now, though, all she could do was put one foot in front of the other and march, praying they would arrive at the castle soon. Atop one of the walls she saw Alicent. When the green queen saw her, her eyes widened. She surely didn’t expect to see Maelessa here again unless it was with her mother, coming to sack the city.

When they finally arrived at the gates of the Red Keep, out of sight for all the commoners, Aemond dismounted his horse and took Maelessa in his arms, carrying her all the way up to his chamber. He wiped her tears and washed her feet, picking the shards and slivers of glass out of her skin, shushing her gently when she winced. Then he placed a kiss atop each of her feet and wrapped some bandages around them to keep the cuts from getting dirty.

“You were so good, Maelītsos. So good for me. I’m proud of you,” he said, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. Maelessa closed her eyes and nuzzled his hand, transfixed by his words. Nothing melted her more than the words “I’m proud of you,” coming from his plush lips, in that soft voice of his. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered. She rose, wincing as she put weight on her feet. She unlaced the black velvet dress and let it fall down to the floor. She did the same to the stays and the shift, rendering her naked before him.

“Good girl. Your obedience pleases me,” Aemond praised, petting her hair gently.

“Pleasing you is all I want,” she whispered.

“I know,” he spoke softly, sliding his hand down her cheek, stroking it with his thumb before tracing it over her lips. She parted them and allowed him to push his thumb inside. She closed her lips and sucked it, eliciting a pleased hum from Aemond.

“Kneel, kēlītsos,” he ordered. She dropped his thumb from her mouth and knelt, placing her hands at her knees and looking up at him. He unlaced his trousers and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking. “Do you know how hard it made my cock dragging you through the streets on a leash? Ñuha gevive… Such a good girl, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, is there?”

She shook her head.

“No, Master. I would do anything for you.” Her voice was basically a moan, and Aemond smirked.

“I know. Open your pretty little mouth for me.” 

She licked her lips and obeyed. Aemond took her head and guided his cock into her mouth, letting her get it wet with her tongue before he pushed it deeper. She closed her lips around him and swirled her tongue around tip when he pulled back, then gagged when he thrust back in deeper. Placing her hands on his thighs, she relaxed her throat and allowed him to use her mouth as he pleased. He thrust into her, hard and deep until she choked and gagged, slobbering all over his cock. He pushed in deep again and held her head, forcing her to stay down as deep grunts of pleasure left his lips. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she gagged and coughed around him, struggling to take all of his length. Her breath failed and her survival instincts had her beating at his thighs. Her legs shook beneath her and only then did he release her. She gasped for breath and dug her nails into his legs, tears running down her eyes.

Aemond only gave her seconds to catch her breath before he repeated the action, fucking her throat until it was raw and his cock came out with blood on it.

“The amount of your own blood that you’ve spilled for me is impressive,” he said when he offered her his hand, pulling her up so she was standing.

“And I’ll spill even more if you wish it,” she promised. Aemond grabbed her by her throat and backed her up against the wall, pushing her so hard against it that she balanced on her tip toes. The wicked smile that covered her features sent heat rushing to his cock. He had sorely missed the way she reacted to his violence.

He slapped her face, once, twice, three times, making her gasp and squirm. The way her legs shook revealed to him how wet this was making her. Roughly, he shoved his hand in between her legs and palmed her pussy, pushing two fingers into her dripping hole.

“Fuck you for leaving me alone here,” he growled, leaning down to bite her neck. She moaned and dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders, holding onto him. He slapped her again. “I should punish you…” “That parade wasn’t punishment enough for you?” she asked, gasping as his hand crashed down on her cheek again. By now it was red and beautiful.

“The parade wasn’t punishment, it was for show.” He curled his fingers inside her making her cry out in pleasure just as he choked her again.

“Then… punish me… as you see fit,” she croaked out, and with a wolfish grin on his face, he did just that. He withdrew his fingers from her dripping cunt and wrapped both hands around her throat, squeezing harder and harder until she went blue in the face. She watched him helplessly and beat at his arms until suddenly she couldn’t anymore, and she fell to the floor. He caught her before she went down and tossed her unconscious body onto the bed, hoisting her up to make sure he wasn’t putting weight on her injured feet.

Using the wetness from her pussy as lubricant, he rubbed it on his cock and then pressed it into her other hole. He had never fucked her in the back before, but he supposed now was as good a time as any. He began to move inside her just as she woke up, dazed and confused. The sight made his cock twitch inside her and he could barely think straight as his mind clouded over with lust. He fucked her ass hard and relentless, and as soon as she gained clarity, she cried out. In pain, pleasure or both, he could not be sure. She grasped the sheets and buried her face in the covers, biting her lip as he hammered into her. She deserved no mercy at the moment, and she didn’t beg for it either.

A few thrusts later, her cries began to change, taking the form of moans. Aemond grinned and leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her face up toward his.

“Is my little bastard princess enjoying her punishment?” he asked, taunting her. Her eyes rolled back in their head like they always did when he degraded her. Her body seemed to melt and mould into his, shaping itself after him like the owned piece of property it was.

“Yes, Master,” she cried, tears running down her cheeks. He released her hair and slapped her other cheek, over and over until her gasps turned to yelps and her yelps to whimpers.

“What a disgustingly filthy little girl you are… This is what happens when you make bastards into royals. You’re nothing but a depraved little servant, isn’t that right? This little bastard princess doesn’t belong on a throne, she belongs on her knees,” he taunted, making Maelessa nod feverishly, moaning and shaking, her hands clawing at the sheets beneath her as a different type of heat spread through her body. The orgasm threatening to take her felt different than it normally did, deeper somehow.

“Yes…” she whined. “I’m your little bastard princess, Aemond… I’m your servant… born to serve you… My place… is at your feet!” she cried out and buried her face in the sheets as she came undone for him, squeezing his cock and kicking her legs as wave after wave of pleasure seared through her. Aemond growled in pleasure and dug his fingers into her hips, fucking her thorugh her orgasm. Then he tangled his hand in her hair again and shoved her face down into the bed as he released himself inside her, filling her tight hole up with his seed, groaning and growling in her ear, calling her his bastard princess once more.

When he was spent and they both had calmed down and stopped panting, he withdrew from her and cleaned them both up. Then they both crawled up into the bed and entangled themselves in each other’s arms. Maelessa rested her head on Aemond’s chest, looking up at him fondly.

“Am I to be your prisoner again?” she asked, tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers. He laid his hand on top of hers.

“No. Aegon is bedridden and someone will need to rule in his stead. Good chance that’ll be me. When I sit the throne I intend to take you to wife. You’re free to walk the keep and the city as you wish, free to take the bat and fly wherever you wish. As long as you let me know first.”

Maelessa smiled, joy finally returning to her.

Valyrian translations:

Kēlītsos - kitten Ñuha gevive - my beauty

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