#rhaella post

[wallboys]

IT ALL GOES BACK AND BACK, TO OUR MOTHERS AND OUR FATHERS

richard kadrey // lois dodd // a dance with dragons, g.r.r.m. // unknown // "writer in the dark", lorde // unknown // the world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire, ritika jyala // a storm of swords, g.r.r.m. // the truth about grief, fortesa latifi // lois dodd // mother and daughter, gustav klimt // she had some horses, joy harjo // a feast for crows, g.r.r.m. // dead mother, egon schiele // for one more day, mitch albom // a game of thrones, g.r.r.m. // chaos, holly warburton // clementine von radics

[visenyaism]

Dany avoiding Egg's mistake of looking back, when I don't think Viserys and other bothered to teach her alot about him is fitting.

I think he would have adored her

my thing about dany and her family members is that i think they would have really struggled to understand her- targaryens in the royal house have never treated their daughters particularly well and she is this cycle breaker who got dragons to hatch by looking forward instead of backwards. (and maybe this goes vice versa a little bit too- dany can’t really understand what it’s like to be raised in immense privilege with power being a natural expectation and not something you have to take.)

like i bet egg WOULD love dany, but i think if she was his daughter, King Aegon V would’ve still married her off for political gain. that’s the difference between the two is although they had very similar goals, Egg got too entrenched in the feudal system and the rot got him in the end. genuinely believe none of her ancestors would be able to understand what exactly let her walk out of the fire unharmed and with dragons and that’s why so many of them including egg killed themselves trying to do it.

[horizon-verizon]

Could you imagine if a grieving Rhaenyra had gotten overwhelmed or had a panic attack while being swarmed by smallfolk? I can't with all the hypocrisy Helaena is bringing out. The same people who declare there was something "chilling" about Dany's "non-reaction" to her guardian-abuser's death. The same people who call Rhaenyra "selfish" and "entitled" when her trauma of course makes her view marriage as a death sentence and the men lining up as the executioners. Now suddenly it's, "We can't expect everyone to react the same to traumatic events. People worthy of grace (and only those worthy) are worthy of grace!"

Those people are the same ones who call Rhaenyra "bratty" for her behavior (negatively) are the ones who don't criticize Aegon's reaction to go wild and dismiss Otto/raise Criston up for his stupid plan to assassinate Rhaenyra through Arryk.

[countrymusiclover]

48 - History Sometimes Repeats Itself

Part 49

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

One month later 

Hearing the chamber door gently closing  I lifted my head up from the pillows seeing my husband entering the room that early morning.  The sunrise was just beginning to break through the thin curtains blowing in the balcony window doorway.  Rolling over to face the doorway I eyed my husband muttering in a sleepy tone.  “How in the realm are you still a morning person after all these years?” 

“I’ve been a knight longer than I was ever a Lord or should I say Queen Consort now.  It's something I am simply used to now.” Jaime flashed me a cheeky grin beginning to remove his boots and drop them near the closed door.   He had told me it was going to be weird living in the Red Keep and not be required to wear guard armor every day unless he wanted to. 

Shifting myself to sit up more on the pillows stacked up behind me.  “I could name you King if you wished.” 

“God's no.  I have no desire to have a crown placed on my head.  Plus I'm not sure the people would be too happy to have the former Kingslayer seat the throne.” Jaime reminded me sitting down on the edge of the bed making it dip at his weight. 

Scooting closer to his body I wrapped my arms around his middle.  Laying my head against his shoulder while I trailed kisses down the side of his neck.  “You're not the unhonorable Kingslayer to me.  You never have been and never will be.” 

“Vaella-” He turns around on the mattress picking me up and sitting me down on his lap.  “You're not like the others.  You have always got to see the other side of the man I am.” 

Sending him a genuine smile I pressed my lips fully upon his.  “I love every part of the man that you are, Jaime Lannister.” 

“I love you, Vaella.” He declares cupping the side of my face in his right hand and his golden hand pushing me onto my back.  I grinned into the kiss threading my fingers into his long hair that he had kept after the war cause I told him how much I loved it.  Jaime moved one of my legs over his bringing our bodies closer with every kiss that got deeper and more passionate as we went on.  

“Mom! Dad! Help me!” Jaime and I’s kissing session was cut short hearing our youngest daughters crying from outside of our chamber door. 

Tossing the covers off of my body I scrambled to the door only wearing a thin nightgown running barefoot across the marble floor.  Flinging the door open my daughter flings herself up into my arms nearly making me stumble backwards catching her body.  “Rhana offf - what- what’s wrong.  Tell me what happened.” 

“He - he tried to take my dress off and - and he said he wanted to sleep with me.” She sobbed into my shoulder until her father scooped her up into his arms. after falling out of the bed and coming over to where we stood. 

He whispered softly into her ear.  “Who was it, sweetheart?” 

“Ewan.” She croaked out in more tears. 

Ewan Lansel, the bastard son of the late Gerold Hightower.  Jaime and I had kept some of his sisters former guards and he was one of them.  Jaime originally thought we should get rid of him but this man wasn't the knight who tried to rape me years ago when my parents were still alive.  

Stomping out into the hallway I noticed a different guard patrolling the hallways.  “Ser Knight.  I call for your assistance.” 

“Yes, your grace.” He bowed to me. 

Lifting my chin up slightly I clutched my hands into fists wanting to find the man responsible.  “Find Ser Ewan immediately for he is to be arrested for attempted rape on a member of the royal family.” 

“Right away, my queen.” The knight ran past me in a quick pass before I headed back inside to comfort my child from the horror she had just faced. 

That next morning rain and a light thunder had come down upon the city of Kings Landing.  Staring out the shut window I didn’t want to leave my chambers for I knew what was coming if I left here.  

I would be executing a man today for hurting my daughter. 

A gentle knock could be heard behind me from the shut door so I allowed whoever it was the permission to come inside.  “Come in.” 

“Vaella  - forgive me your grace.” Tyrion peeked his head inside the room, addressing me with a bow given the fact that I was wearing the crown Jaime had made me on my head that now represents the ruler of the Eight Kingdoms. 

Shaking my head I waved my friend and royal Hand to not worry about properly addressing me.  “Tyrion, don't bother with the formality.  Come in and tell me what you need to talk with me about.” 

“You don’t have to execute the knight.  We can go another direction if you simply say the word.” He suggested crossing the room, clasping his hands together in front of his chest when he finally stopped in front of me. 

Slumping my shoulders I replied doing the best I could to put on a brave face.  “I appreciate your advice, my friend.  I truly do.  But this man hurt my daughter.” 

“Vaella, we shouldn’t resort to violence since we are hoping to make a different way of life for our people.” He softly spoke back to me. 

Lowering myself down on a knee to be eye level with the dwarf I placed my hands over his.  “Tyrion, I don’t want to start with violence but I refuse to do nothing for what this man tried to do to my daughter.  I was older than she was when one of my fathers knights assaulted me.  My parents didn’t do anything about what occurred so I refuse to let the same thing happen to Rhana.  You don’t have to agree with me but you should know this is happening.” Raising myself to stand my friend slowly nodded his head watching me leave the room following after me a few minutes later. 

My boots squished in the muddy ground behind them as I walked across until I stood in front of the knight who had sworn to protect me and my family.  Keeping my hands down at my sides the weight of the crown on my head had never felt heavier than in this moment.  “You gave me your word, Ser Lansel.  And yet you’ve now attempted to rape my youngest daughter.  I demand to know why.” 

“She’s always been kind to me.  I assumed that she felt the same way I feel about her.” The knight responded, meeting my gaze. 

Clutching my hands into fists at my side I snapped back.  “You’re eighteen.  She’s far too young for you!” 

“Vaella.” Jaime’s gentle voice met my ears when he touched my forearm tugging me backwards to give us some privacy to talk.  “You don’t have to do this.  We could have one of the other knights or me execute him.” 

He could see it in my eyes that I didn’t want to kill anyone.  My father was known to execute anyone he assumed to be a threat.  I didn’t want to be seen the same way.  But this man hurt a member of my family.  “I have to do this, Jaime. I called for his arrest.  I have to be the one to finish it.” 

Lord Selmy came over to me drawing my sword out from the sword holder he carried for me.  “My Queen.” He bent down a knee holding it up in his palms till I picked up the blade. 

“Ser Ewan Lansel, Bastard of Gerold Hightower.  Here in sight of Gods and Men I sentence you to die.  Do you have any final words?” 

Ewan lifted his head up from the block, locking his gaze on Rhana who was standing off to the side with her siblings and their Uncle Tyrion.  “We belong together, Rhana.  You shouldn’t have gone crying to your parents like a weak girl.” 

“Urgh!” I raised the blade above my shoulder signaling for the knight behind Ewan to shove his head back down on the block.  Once the knight had stepped away I brought the weapon down and separated his head from his body.  

My whole body froze in that moment while I just stared at the now dead body laying at my feet.  The weapon slipped from my fingers dropping into the muddy dirt before I collapsed down onto my knees.  I felt my chest tightening making it hard to catch my breath when I bent my face down sobbing into my hands until I felt Jaime’s calming hand touching my shoulder.  “Vae, Vae, look at me.  Are you okay?” 

“J-Jaime - I - I shouldn’t have done that.  I don’t- don’t want to ever do that again.” I croaked out through heavy tears streaming down my cheeks.  Jaime pushed my body against his chest cradling the back of my head in his real hand.  “I don’t- I can’t do this.  I can’t be a good queen.” 

My husband kissed the crown of my head whispering back to me.  “Sssh don’t say that, Vaella.  You will be an amazing queen.  Just give it time and we will figure this out together like always.” 

This life certainly wasn’t easy for either of us.  But for certain we would make sure by all the gods and men that we would change Westeros for the better. 

[amethysttribble]

Female Feanor leads to accidental fix-it? I don't think anyone was expecting that lol. And I'm guessing she read Mae's name and remembered?

Uuuuhhhhh, more like the fem!Feanor AU was getting really seriously depressing and the author decided that a fix-it was a better way to go than… where things were headed, haha

But, no, I was trying to imply that she met little lady Maedhros! If reading a name was enough to jog Feanor’s memory…

[octavianacidicbreastmilk]

theres this je ne sais quois between jaime and dean that made most of their fans construct entirely fictitious inner lives defined by the misogyny they experienced (LMAO). this, of course, excluding my mutuals who have their head screwed on straight and would never do this to me. shame that it happened tho

[wweskywalker]

"When Jaehaerys departed Oldtown for King’s Landing, most of his court traveled with him. His sister Rhaena parted ways with him at Highgarden, however, flying back to Fair Isle, the seat of Lord Farman, on Dreamfyre. But she left behind her daughters: the twins Aerea and Rhaella. Rhaella, the younger, remained at the Starry Sept, having been sworn to the Faith, while Aerea, the elder—now the heir to the Iron Throne until such time as Jaehaerys had children of his own—went on to the Red Keep to serve as a companion and cupbearer to Alysanne."

my version of rhaena's twin daughters as commissioned by dianaaklem on x/twt! there's another version which diana had asked for and it will be featured in the next commissions post 💜

[strangesmallbard]

currently thinking about why some targaryen names are reused and not others. i think it’s mostly intentional, if not always. there are surface-level plot and characterization reasons why, but i also think these choices reinforce certain targ family narratives overall + reveal the patriarchy-laden marrow of the whole thing. none of these thoughts will be in logical order but bear with me LMAO.

i've already posted a bit about aegon, but also: the targaryens are trying to rebirth aegon i again and again and they always fail bc aegon i was always an ideal, not a real person who existed. aegon i was also an imperial conquerer; anyone who tries to live up to him will once again re-enact that violence on themselves, their family, and the people he subjugated. there’s “viserys” and never a living visenya; a warrior queen may have built this dynasty, but only her sons can take her place. the first rhaena targaryen, who had a similar political disposition to visenya, was denied the same power. (she was also named after rhaenys, known for being more gentle and kind-heated despite her own active participation in the conquest).

all three women/girls named rhaenys were, in different ways, overshadowed by male family members. rhaenys became a unwitting martyr to aegon (and visenya's) imperial cause, while rhaenys 2 was denied the throne in favor of viserys. rhaenys 3, meanwhile, is murdered during wartime; her younger brother was (maybe) saved to preserve rhaegar's bloodline. a bit like her first namesake, she becomes an unwitting symbol for oberyn's vengeance.

and there's more! king aenys was considered weak compared to aegon; no other children were named after him. maegor was considered too cruel, even by targaryen standards; no other children were named after him—except, of course, the royal quarters in the red keep are in a building called maegor's holdfast. his legacy follows every targ born since, even though they openly scorn his name. little prince jaehaerys and princess jaehaera both die horribly because of a succession crisis that jaehaerys i helped cause. jaehaerys ii brought his namesake’s incest back, dooming his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren before they were ever born.

meanwhile, rhaella names dany because the last daenerys brought peace to westeros (according to the targaryen pov); all dany craves is that peace, even though she only knows how to express that desire through the violent vestiges of her ancestors. young griff inherited the Aegon Curse, despite his dubious origins. will it matter at all, in the end? as the banners are raised in his name? and there's the jon snow of it all, the secret targaryen named after his uncle's father figure. not his father's hoped-for visenya, nor another aegon. i hope he doesn't have a targaryen name at all, in the end. i think that would be much more powerful than anything else.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (fire and gold)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps. This is the last part of the story. Between Pride and Fire will take its posting schedule.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood and gore)

- Previous part: son's choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @your-favorite-god

The morning sun sneaked weakly through the stained-glass windows of the solar at Casterly Rock, casting fragmented light onto the table where Tyland sat. His brows furrowed as he read the missive in his hands, the wax seal of the Hand of the King—Otto Hightower—already broken. The contents of the letter were audacious, to say the least, and the weight of them settled heavily on his shoulders.

You entered moments later, your gown sweeping softly against the stone floor. The expression on Tyland’s face immediately caught your attention, a mixture of frustration and calculation.

“What is it?” you asked, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You look like you’ve just swallowed something sour.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, handing you the parchment. “It’s from Otto Hightower.”

You took it with a frown, scanning the contents quickly. As you read, your face darkened, your fingers tightening around the edges of the paper.

“An alliance,” you said, your voice cold. “And yet again, he proposes that Rhaella marry Aemond.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes studying you carefully. “It seems Otto hasn’t given up on securing the Westerlands. He sees Rhaella as a key to solidifying their claim.”

You threw the parchment onto the table with more force than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Aemond killed Luke,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger. “He killed my nephew, Tyland. And now Otto dares to propose this… this farce of an alliance? After taking my sister’s throne? It’s an insult.”

Tyland reached for your hand, his touch gentle but grounding. “I know how you feel,” he said softly. “But we need to think carefully about how to respond. Otto wouldn’t send this without a reason.”

“His reason is obvious,” you snapped, pulling your hand away as you began to pace. “He wants to divide us. To pull the Westerlands away from Rhaenyra’s cause and strengthen Aegon’s. He sees Rhaella as a pawn—a tool to secure his power.”

Tyland watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And he’s not entirely wrong. Rhaella’s marriage would hold significant sway over the Westerlands.”

You stopped mid-step, turning to glare at him. “You’re not seriously considering this.”

He shook his head, his tone calm but firm. “Of course not. But dismissing it outright could have consequences. Otto is playing a game, and we need to ensure that our response doesn’t put us in a weaker position.”

Your voice rose, the anger bubbling to the surface. “A weaker position? Tyland, we’re already at war because of Otto Hightower’s schemes! He has no honor, no loyalty. If we even entertain this, it’s a betrayal of everything we’ve fought for.”

“I agree,” Tyland said, standing and crossing the room to meet you. “But we can’t afford to act rashly. Rejecting Otto outright may provoke him into retaliating, and the Westerlands aren’t invulnerable.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling with frustration. “How can you be so calm about this? He’s asking us to marry our daughter to the man who murdered my nephew. The man who defies the very legacy of my family. Of your family now, too.”

Tyland’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “Because I have to be calm, Y/N. For you, for our children, for our House. I understand your anger—I feel it too. But anger won’t win us this war.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I won’t let them take Rhaella, Tyland.”

“And they won’t,” he promised, his voice steady. “But we need to send a response that makes our position clear without inviting retaliation. Let me handle this.”

You hesitated, your heart torn between anger and trust. Finally, you nodded, though your voice remained firm. “Make it clear, Tyland. Make it clear that House Lannister stands with Rhaenyra. That we will not forgive Luke’s death or the theft of my sister’s throne. And that Rhaella will never marry Aemond.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I will. You have my word.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the decision settling over you. Outside, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the air, a reminder of the world beyond the walls of Casterly Rock—a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

Finally, Tyland returned to the table, picking up a fresh piece of parchment and reaching for his quill. As he began to write, you watched him, your heart heavy but resolute. You had fought too hard and lost too much to let Otto Hightower’s schemes tear your family apart.

The response would be swift, direct, and unyielding. The Westerlands were no one’s pawn, and House Lannister would not be bought.

The sky above Rook’s Rest was a chaotic swirl of fire and smoke, the once-quiet fields below transformed into a battlefield of roaring dragons and clashing steel. The sun had barely risen when Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond sprung their trap, their dragons—Sunfyre and Vhagar—descending from the heavens like twin harbingers of doom. The ground trembled beneath their might, and atop the castle walls, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen mounted her scarlet-scaled dragon, Meleys, preparing to meet their challenge.

But she was not alone.

Out of the western sky came a roar that sent shivers through the assembled forces below. Valtyr, his green-and-gold scales glinting like precious metal, soared into the fray with a ferocious cry. Upon his back, Loren Lannister gripped the reins tightly, his golden hair whipping in the wind. He descended swiftly to join Rhaenys, the younger dragon circling the larger, battle-scarred Meleys like a loyal vassal.

“You shouldn’t be here, boy!” Rhaenys called over the roar of the wind, her voice sharp but not unkind.

“I’m not leaving you to face them alone!” Loren shouted back, his voice resolute. “This is my fight too!”

Rhaenys gave a grim smile, nodding once. “Then stay close and do as I say. We finish this together.”

The dragons roared in unison as the battle commenced. Sunfyre, with his golden scales gleaming in the early light, lunged toward Meleys, his jaws snapping with deadly intent. But the Red Queen was swift, twisting mid-air and lashing out with her claws. The sound of tearing flesh echoed through the sky as Meleys raked Sunfyre’s flank, dark blood spilling like eclipsed sunlight.

Loren and Valtyr dove toward Aegon, who clung desperately to his saddle as Sunfyre reeled from the attack. The younger dragon unleashed a torrent of flame, the green fire licking at Sunfyre’s wings. Aegon bellowed in pain as the heat seared his armor, and Sunfyre faltered, his once-majestic form reduced to a struggling shadow of its former glory.

“Aegon, fall back!” Aemond’s voice boomed from atop Vhagar, his expression twisted with fury. The massive she-dragon surged forward, her ancient wings beating with a thunderous rhythm.

“Not yet!” Aegon roared back, his pride outweighing his pain. But his defiance was short-lived as Meleys struck again, her claws slamming into Sunfyre’s side and sending him plummeting toward the earth.

Aegon screamed as his dragon crashed into the fields below, the impact shaking the ground and scattering soldiers like ants. Meleys circled above, her roar a triumphant challenge, but there was no time to celebrate. Vhagar, older and far more massive, let out a deafening roar and lunged for her.

“Loren, now!” Rhaenys commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Valtyr shot forward, green flames spewing from his maw as he closed the distance to Vhagar. The older dragon turned, her massive jaws snapping inches from Valtyr’s tail. Loren clung to his saddle, the heat and smoke stinging his eyes as he urged his dragon to climb higher, forcing Vhagar to follow.

“She’s too big!” Loren called out, his voice tight with effort. “We need to outmaneuver her!”

“Keep her focused on you!” Rhaenys replied, guiding Meleys into a flanking position. “I’ll strike where it hurts!”

Vhagar roared again, her ancient fury unmatched as she chased Valtyr through the smoke-filled sky. But Meleys was faster, her crimson wings a blur as she swooped beneath Vhagar, raking her belly with a savage strike. Vhagar bellowed in pain, her massive body twisting mid-air to retaliate.

Claws tore through the sky as the three dragons clashed, their roars echoing across the battlefield. Blood and scales rained down like grisly confetti, the once-blue sky streaked with fire and ash. Loren’s heart pounded as Valtyr narrowly avoided another devastating snap of Vhagar’s jaws, the young dragon twisting and diving with desperate agility.

“Hold on!” Loren shouted to himself, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins.

Below, Aemond snarled, his single eye blazing with rage as he guided Vhagar into another attack. “You’ll pay for this, boy!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. “You and that wretched crone!”

Loren’s gaze hardened, his fear replaced by a surge of determination. “Come and try!” he shouted back.

Meleys surged forward again, her claws ripping into Vhagar’s wing. The ancient dragon roared in fury, her massive body buckling mid-air as blood gushed from the wound. But even wounded, Vhagar was a force to be reckoned with. With a final, deafening roar, she lunged forward, her massive weight slamming into both Meleys and Valtyr.

The impact was catastrophic. All three dragons became a tangle of wings, claws, and fire, their riders clinging desperately to their saddles as they plummeted toward the earth. Loren felt the air leave his lungs as Valtyr let out a pained shriek, his body twisting uncontrollably.

“Hold on!” Rhaenys’ voice reached him, her tone frantic.

The ground rushed toward them, the world a blur of chaos and destruction. Loren tightened his grip, his heart pounding as he prayed to the gods for a miracle. Around him, the sky seemed to collapse, fire and smoke consuming everything in its path.

And then came the crash.

The impact was deafening, the earth trembling beneath the weight of the fallen dragons. Dust and debris filled the air, the cries of men and beasts mingling in a cacophony of terror. Loren coughed, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him.

The world came back into focus sharply for Loren with a blinding pain in his head and a metallic taste in his mouth. He blinked rapidly, forcing his vision to steady as the ground beneath him swayed. Smoke filled the air, and the roars of dragons battling nearby were deafening, their cries reverberating across the desolate field.

When his vision cleared, he saw him. Aemond Targaryen, limping slightly but charging forward with a sword gleaming in his hand. His face was a mask of fury, the sapphire set in his empty eye socket glinting with malevolence. Blood streaked down his armor, and his pale hair was matted with soot and gore.

“You’ve overstepped, boy!” Aemond roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Now you’ll pay the price for your insolence!”

Loren scrambled to his feet, his body aching from the fall, and drew his sword—a finely crafted Lannister blade with a roaring lion etched into the hilt. His dragon, Valtyr, was somewhere in the distance, locked in a deadly struggle alongside Meleys against the massive form of Vhagar. The clash of claws and teeth rang out like thunder, but Loren’s focus was solely on the man bearing down on him.

“I’ll pay no price to a kinslayer!” Loren spat, steadying himself as Aemond closed the gap.

Aemond lunged, his sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. Loren parried just in time, the force of the blow sending vibrations up his arms. Aemond was relentless, his strikes coming fast and sharp, each one pushing Loren further back.

“You think you’re my equal?” Aemond sneered, pressing forward with another brutal swing. “You’re a cub playing at war!”

Loren gritted his teeth, ducking beneath the next strike and countering with a slash aimed at Aemond’s side. The blade bit into the prince’s armor, drawing blood, but Aemond barely flinched. Instead, he laughed—a cold, mirthless sound.

“You have fire,” Aemond said mockingly, his sapphire eye gleaming. “But fire alone won’t save you.”

Their swords clashed again, sparks flying as steel met steel. Loren’s arms ached with the effort of blocking Aemond’s powerful strikes, but he refused to give ground. He could feel the heat of the nearby battle, the earth trembling beneath the weight of the dragons’ struggle.

“You killed Luke!” Loren shouted, his voice raw with fury. “You killed my cousin, and you dare speak of fire?”

“Luke was weak,” Aemond snarled, his strikes growing more vicious. “A boy who couldn’t rise above his weakness. He deserved his fate.”

Loren roared, his anger fueling his movements as he pushed back against Aemond’s assault. He swung with all his might, his blade slicing across Aemond’s shoulder and drawing a spray of blood. Aemond staggered, but his grin only widened.

“Good,” Aemond hissed, blood dripping from his wound. ���Show me the lion’s bite.”

Loren lunged again, his strikes faster now, driven by the memory of Luke and the injustice that had brought them to this moment. But Aemond was experienced, his movements fluid as he parried and countered with precision. Their blades locked, and Loren found himself face to face with his uncle, their breaths ragged.

“You’ll never be one of us,” Aemond growled, his voice low and venomous. “You’re no dragon—you’re just a lion cub pretending to roar.”

Loren gritted his teeth, twisting his blade free and delivering a sharp kick to Aemond’s knee. The prince stumbled, giving Loren a brief opening. He swung his sword, the blade carving a shallow gash across Aemond’s chest.

Aemond snarled, his fury evident as he retaliated with a brutal backhanded strike. The hilt of his sword caught Loren across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Stars exploded in his vision as he tasted blood, but he refused to stay down.

With a groan, Loren rolled to his feet just as Aemond bore down on him. The prince’s blade sliced through the air, grazing Loren’s arm and leaving a deep gash. Blood poured from the wound, staining his tunic and dripping onto the ground.

“You’re finished!” Aemond roared, raising his sword for a killing blow.

But Loren wasn’t done. Summoning every ounce of strength, he surged forward, his sword driving upward in a desperate strike. The blade pierced Aemond’s side, the sound of metal slicing through flesh mingling with the prince’s cry of pain.

Aemond staggered back, clutching the wound as blood seeped between his fingers. His eye burned with hatred, but his movements were slower now, his strength waning.

Loren raised his blade, breathing heavily. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain coursing through him. “For Luke. For all of us.”

Aemond smirked through the blood staining his lips. “We’ll see about that, boy.”

Before Loren could strike again, the ground shook violently as the dragons’ battle reached a fever pitch. A deafening roar split the air, and Loren turned to see Valtyr and Meleys locked in a final, desperate struggle with Vhagar. The three dragons tumbled from the sky, their massive forms crashing into the field with a sound like thunder.

The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, knocking both Loren and Aemond to the ground. Loren’s vision blurred as the dust and debris clouded the air, but he forced himself to rise, his gaze fixed on the wreckage of wings and fire.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Smoke thickened the air, and the crash of the dragons’ fall left the earth trembling. The clash of claws and teeth echoed across the bloodied field as Valtyr and Meleys struggled against Vhagar, the ancient she-dragon’s ferocity unmatched. In the distance, Aemond and Loren still stood, battered and bloodied, their duel momentarily halted as both stared at the carnage.

And then, another roar tore through the sky—a sound like a clarion call, fierce and unrelenting. All heads turned skyward as Rhaella Targaryen descended on her sleek, sapphire-scaled dragon, Aelirys, his wings cutting through the smoky air like a blade.

Rhaella’s voice rang out, strong and defiant, even over the chaos. “For Luke! For Rhaenyra!”

Her words galvanized the field as Aelirys dove into the fray, his sapphire flames pouring over Vhagar’s side. The larger dragon bellowed in rage, her massive form twisting to face this new threat. Blood already streaked her scales from her struggle with Meleys and Valtyr, but she showed no sign of yielding.

“Rhaella, no!” Loren shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “Stay back!”

But Rhaella was undeterred, her violet eyes blazing with fury. “You need me, Loren! You all do!”

She spurred Aelirys forward, the smaller dragon weaving nimbly through Vhagar’s attempts to swat him from the sky. The clash of dragons intensified as Aelirys struck with his claws, raking deep wounds along Vhagar’s flank. The ancient dragon roared, her massive tail swinging like a battering ram and narrowly missing Meleys, who retaliated with a savage bite to Vhagar’s neck.

Below, Loren turned back to Aemond, his grip tightening on his sword. “It’s over, Aemond,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “You’ve lost.”

Aemond smirked, blood dripping from his mouth as he raised his sword. “Lost? Look around you, boy. This is only the beginning.”

With a roar, Aemond lunged, their blades clashing once more. Loren fought with renewed determination, his strikes fueled by the sight of his sister joining the battle above. The clang of steel rang out as the two young men exchanged blow after blow, their movements growing more desperate and brutal.

Above them, the dragons’ fight reached a fever pitch. Aelirys and Valtyr worked in tandem, the younger dragons striking at Vhagar’s exposed sides while Meleys kept her jaws locked on the larger dragon’s neck. Blood poured from Vhagar’s wounds, staining the battlefield below as her roars grew weaker.

“Keep pushing!” Rhaella shouted, her voice fierce as she guided Aelirys into another dive. The blue dragon released a torrent of sapphire flames, the searing heat scorching Vhagar’s already-tattered wings.

But Vhagar was not done. With a final, desperate burst of strength, she twisted her massive body, throwing Meleys off balance. The Red Queen screeched as she tumbled, her rider clinging tightly to her saddle. Valtyr moved to shield her, but Vhagar’s claws raked across his side, leaving deep, bloody gashes.

“Valtyr!” Loren cried out, his heart lurching as his dragon faltered in the air.

Rhaella’s voice cut through his panic. “He’s strong, Loren! Focus!”

Her words steadied him, and he turned back to Aemond, who was breathing heavily, his armor slick with blood. The prince smirked, though his strength was clearly waning. “Your sister has spirit,” Aemond said, his voice taunting. “Shame she’s bound to fall like the rest of your family.”

Loren roared, his sword slashing through the air with renewed vigor. Aemond parried, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back. “You won’t touch her,” Loren growled, his strikes coming faster now. “You won’t touch any of us!”

Above, Aelirys and Valtyr regrouped, their combined flames engulfing Vhagar in a brilliant blaze. The ancient dragon roared one last time, her movements slowing as her wounds took their toll. Meleys, bloodied but determined, surged forward, her claws sinking into Vhagar’s chest as she drove the larger dragon toward the ground.

Rhaella’s voice rang out again, her tone triumphant. “We have her!”

But Vhagar, even in her death throes, was not to be underestimated. With a final, desperate effort, she lashed out, her massive tail striking Aelirys and sending him spiraling. Rhaella cried out, clutching the reins as her dragon struggled to steady himself.

On the ground, Loren saw his sister’s peril and screamed, “Rhaella!”

Aemond took advantage of his distraction, lunging forward with his sword. The blade sliced across Loren’s side, drawing a deep wound that sent him to his knees. Aemond stood over him, breathing heavily, his violet eye blazing with triumph.

“You’ll die here, boy,” Aemond sneered, raising his blade for the killing blow.

But before he could strike, a shadow passed over them. Valtyr descended like a vengeful spirit, his roar shaking the battlefield as he unleashed a torrent of flame. Aemond barely had time to leap back, the heat singing his armor as he cursed and stumbled.

Loren seized the moment, his hand clutching his sword as he forced himself to his feet. With a roar of his own, he drove the blade forward, piercing Aemond’s side. The prince gasped, blood spilling from the wound as he staggered back.

“You’ll never win,” Loren said, his voice cold as he stepped closer. “Not while we stand.”

Above, Meleys delivered the final blow, her jaws crushing Vhagar’s throat as the ancient dragon fell silent. The battlefield grew quiet, the roars and flames replaced by the crackle of distant fires and the labored breathing of the survivors.

Rhaella guided Aelirys back to the ground, her expression fierce but relieved as she dismounted. She rushed to Loren, who was leaning heavily on his sword, blood staining his armor.

“Loren,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live,” he replied, his gaze drifting to Aemond, who lay crumpled on the ground, his breaths shallow. “But he won’t forget this.”

Rhaella’s expression hardened, and she nodded. Together, they turned to face the battlefield, the cost of victory heavy on their shoulders.

The morning sun cast a pale light over the scorched and blood-soaked battlefield of Rook’s Rest. The acrid scent of charred flesh and dragonfire lingered in the air, mingling with the cries of wounded soldiers and the low growls of restless dragons. Smoke curled lazily into the sky, a grim reminder of the carnage that had unfolded.

Loren sat slumped against a broken piece of stone, his armor dented and smeared with blood, his breathing labored. His side ached where Aemond's blade had struck, the hastily applied bandages doing little to stem the pain. Nearby, Aemond Targaryen lay barely alive, his once-imposing figure now broken and bloodied. His sword rested a few feet from his limp hand, forgotten in the chaos.

The sound of marching boots echoed through the battlefield as Daemon Targaryen, Jason Lannister, and Corlys Velaryon arrived with their respective forces. The banners of House Velaryon, House Targaryen, and House Lannister fluttered in the breeze, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the devastation around them.

Daemon rode at the forefront, his silver hair glinting in the light as he surveyed the scene. His violet eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Vhagar’s broken form, the fallen Sunfyre, and the wounded Valtyr, Meleys, and Aelirys resting nearby. His expression darkened further when his gaze landed on Loren.

“Loren,” Daemon called as he dismounted, his boots crunching against the ash-strewn ground. “You look like hell.”

Loren managed a weak smile, his voice hoarse. “And yet, I’m still breathing. Can’t say the same for Aegon.”

Daemon’s smirk was fleeting as his gaze shifted to Aemond’s crumpled form. “Aemond’s alive,” he noted coldly, striding toward the wounded prince. “Pity.”

Jason dismounted next, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. “You reckless fool,” he said, crouching beside Loren. “You could have died.”

“I had to,” Loren said, wincing as he adjusted himself against the stone. “We couldn’t let them win.”

Jason shook his head, his tone softening. “You’re too much like your father. Stubborn to a fault.”

Corlys joined them, his sharp gaze assessing the battlefield. “You held them off long enough for us to arrive. You’ve done well, boy.”

Loren gave a faint nod, his eyes flicking to Aemond. “He’s dangerous. If he lives…”

Daemon interrupted, his voice laced with disdain. “He won’t pose a threat. Not in this state.”

Daemon stood over Aemond, his expression a mixture of contempt and triumph. “You thought yourself invincible, didn’t you, nephew?” he said, his tone mocking. “But even the might of Vhagar couldn’t save you.”

Aemond groaned weakly, his one remaining eye fluttering open to glare at Daemon. “You… haven’t won,” he rasped, blood trickling from his lips. “This… isn’t over.”

Daemon crouched beside him, his smirk cruel. “Oh, but it is, Aemond. Your dragons are dead or dying, your brother is ashes, and you—” he gestured to Aemond’s broken form— “are barely clinging to life. Tell me, where’s your victory now?”

Jason approached, his voice measured. “What do we do with him?”

“Kill him,” Daemon said without hesitation, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “It’s what he deserves.”

“No,” Loren interjected, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “Not like this.”

Daemon turned, his expression darkening. “He killed your cousin, boy. Do you really think he deserves mercy?”

Loren met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not saying he deserves it. But killing him now, when he’s defenseless, makes us no better than him.”

Corlys nodded slowly, his tone thoughtful. “The boy has a point. Executing Aemond like this could turn him into a martyr for their cause. It’s a risk we can’t ignore.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he rose, his gaze sweeping the battlefield. “Very well. We’ll take him as a prisoner. But I warn you, Loren—if he becomes a problem, his blood will be on your hands.”

Loren nodded, his resolve unshaken. “I’ll take that chance.”

Jason clapped his nephew on the shoulder, his expression proud. “You’ve got the heart of a lion, Loren. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

As the soldiers moved to secure Aemond, Daemon turned back to the dragons. Meleys stood tall despite her wounds, her blood-red scales streaked with gore. Valtyr rested nearby, his golden-green eyes watching Loren protectively. Aelirys perched on a crumbled tower, her sapphire scales shimmering despite the soot and ash.

“We’ve won the day,” Daemon said, his voice carrying across the field. “But the war is far from over. Gather your strength—we’ll need it.”

Loren leaned back against the stone, his gaze drifting to the sky. The cost of victory weighed heavily on his mind, but for now, he allowed himself a moment of relief. 

The throne room sat heavy under the weight of foreboding, its high ceilings amplifying the silence. Queen Alicent sat rigidly on the Iron Throne, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Beside her, Otto Hightower stood, his face a carefully composed mask, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

The air grew heavier still as a messenger entered, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor. He carried a scroll bearing a black wax seal, its edges frayed as though it had been handled with haste. Alicent’s gaze snapped to the man, her green eyes sharp as daggers.

“Speak,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The messenger knelt, his voice trembling as he began. “My Queen… news from Rook’s Rest.”

Otto stiffened, stepping closer as Alicent’s fingers dug into the arms of the throne. “What news?” he demanded.

The messenger hesitated, his gaze flicking between the Queen and the Hand. “King Aegon… is dead. His dragon, Sunfyre, is no more. Vhagar… has fallen as well.”

The words hung in the air like a curse, the weight of them crashing down upon the room. Alicent’s breath hitched, her composure wavering as her mind struggled to process the blow.

“And… my other son?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The messenger swallowed hard. “Prince Aemond is alive, Your Grace, but grievously wounded. He is held captive by the Blacks.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Alicent, her mask of control shattering for a moment. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, this cannot be.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the throne as he leaned forward. “How did this happen?” he demanded. “How could two of our greatest dragons and their riders fall?”

“The Blacks had reinforcements,” the messenger explained, his voice trembling. “Prince Daemon and his forces arrived after the initial battle. Lady Rhaenys fought valiantly, as did the young Lord Loren Lannister. Together, they brought down both Sunfyre and Vhagar.”

Otto’s face darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Loren Lannister… the lion cub. Tyland’s boy.”

Alicent’s hands trembled as she gripped the throne, her knuckles white. “And Aemond?” she pressed, her voice cracking. “How badly is he hurt?”

The messenger hesitated, his eyes lowering. “He is said to be barely alive, my Queen. His wounds are severe.”

Alicent let out a shuddering breath, her chest heaving as tears threatened to spill. “My sons,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “My Aegon, my Aemond…”

Otto placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his expression cold and calculating. “We cannot afford to falter now,” he said sharply. “This war is not over.”

Alicent’s gaze snapped to him, her eyes blazing with anger and despair. “My son is dying, Father! My eldest is dead! How can you speak of war when my family is being torn apart?”

Otto’s voice hardened, his tone brooking no argument. “Because we must. Aegon may be gone, but Aemond still lives. We must secure him and rally what remains of our forces. If we show weakness now, Rhaenyra will seize the throne completely.”

Alicent stood abruptly, her composure unraveling as she paced the room. “And what of my son?” she demanded. “Do you truly believe they will spare him? That Daemon will show mercy?”

Otto’s silence spoke volumes, his lips pressing into a thin line. Alicent’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

“We must send word,” she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute. “To retrieve Aemond. Whatever it takes, he must be brought back to us.”

“And if they refuse?” Otto asked, his tone calculated.

Alicent’s gaze hardened, her grief giving way to steel. “Then we will remind them what it means to cross House Hightower.”

The throne room fell silent once more, the weight of the Queen’s words hanging heavily in the air. Outside, the bells of the city tolled mournfully, their somber tones echoing across King’s Landing. 

The battlefield of Tumbleton was chaos—a sprawling tapestry of fire, blood, and betrayal. The flames of dragonfire consumed the once-prosperous town, casting a hellish glow that turned the night into day. Soldiers screamed as they fell, their cries drowned out by the deafening roars of dragons above.

Belerix, your massive dragon circled high, his piercing roar shaking the earth below. His molten eyes scanned the carnage, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent of burning wood and flesh. Seated firmly in the saddle, your grip tightened on the reins, your gaze fixed on two figures above: Daeron Targaryen astride his cobalt-blue dragon, Tessarion, and Ulf the White, the traitorous rider of Silverwing.

“Traitors to the throne, both of them,” you spat under your breath, your voice filled with venom.

From the western flank, Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke rose into the skies, the pale-gray dragon's wings cutting through the thick smoke. Below, Lannister forces, led by Jason Lannister himself, surged forward, their crimson and gold banners streaming as they engaged the green loyalist forces in brutal melee combat.

“Addam,” you called, your voice carried by the wind as Belerix flanked Seasmoke. “We’ll take Tessarion together. Jason’s forces can handle the traitors on the ground.”

Addam nodded, his youthful face hardened by the firelight. “Understood. But what about Silverwing?”

Your gaze darkened as you turned toward Ulf the White, his dragon circling menacingly near Tessarion. “Silverwing is mine.”

Addam hesitated for a moment but trusted your resolve. With a sharp command to Seasmoke, he veered toward Tessarion, his dragon’s roar echoing as he descended on Daeron.

Belerix bellowed a challenge, his massive wings propelling you forward as you locked onto Silverwing. Ulf turned just in time to see your approach, his eyes widening as Belerix unleashed a torrent of blue-and-gold flame. Silverwing twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the inferno, but her silver scales were singed, her anguished cry cutting through the chaos.

“Face me, you coward!” you roared, guiding Belerix into a dive.

Ulf snarled, his voice carrying over the wind. “You’re outmatched, Princess! You’ll die like the rest of your family!”

Belerix’s jaws snapped inches from Silverwing’s tail, his claws raking across her flank as the two dragons collided. The impact sent shockwaves through the air, the force nearly unseating you from your saddle. Silverwing shrieked, her blood splattering onto the battlefield below.

Ulf drew his sword, shouting obscenities as he tried to maneuver his dragon. “You think you can stop me? I’ll carve your name into this battlefield!”

“Try it,” you hissed, guiding Belerix into another strike. The massive dragon slammed into Silverwing again, his claws digging into her side as his teeth sought her vulnerable neck.

Below, Addam and Seasmoke engaged Tessarion in a deadly dance. The cobalt-blue dragon twisted and turned, her flames lighting up the sky, but Seasmoke was faster, darting in and out of range with precision strikes. Addam shouted commands, his voice filled with determination as he fought to bring down the younger prince.

Jason’s forces surged through the town, cutting down loyalists and securing key positions. The clang of steel on steel and the cries of dying men filled the air, the ground beneath their feet slick with blood. Jason himself was in the thick of it, his golden armor gleaming as he struck down a charging enemy with a swing of his blade.

Above, Belerix and Silverwing continued their brutal clash. Ulf swung his sword wildly, his strikes falling short as you deftly guided Belerix out of range.

“Enough of this!” you shouted, your voice filled with fury. “Belerix, end it!”

Your dragon roared in response, his massive jaws closing around Silverwing’s neck in a bone-crushing grip. The silver dragon thrashed and screamed, her wings flailing as she struggled to break free. Ulf cursed and shouted, his sword clattering uselessly against Belerix’s armored scales.

With a final, deafening crunch, Belerix severed Silverwing’s throat, her lifeblood spilling onto the battlefield below. Ulf the White screamed in fury and despair, but his cries were cut short as Belerix’s claws raked across his body, tearing him from his saddle and casting him into the inferno below.

You stared down at the lifeless form of Silverwing as she plummeted to the earth, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “One traitor down,” you muttered, turning your gaze toward Tessarion.

Meanwhile, Seasmoke and Tessarion clashed viciously, their roars shaking the heavens as their riders dueled with words and weapons. Addam pressed the attack, his dragon’s agility proving superior as Seasmoke’s claws raked across Tessarion’s wings.

“You’ll regret this, bastard!” Daeron shouted, his voice filled with rage. “You are nothing but a pretender!”

“And you,” Addam retorted, his voice cold and steady, “are a usurper.”

You guided Belerix toward the fray, your dragon roaring as he joined Seasmoke in the assault. The combined might of the two dragons overwhelmed Tessarion, who let out a final, pitiful cry as Belerix’s flames engulfed her. Daeron screamed as he was thrown from his saddle, his body consumed by the fire before it ever hit the ground.

The battlefield fell eerily silent as the last of the Green forces were routed. The sight of their prince’s lifeless body and the fallen dragons broke their spirits, and they fled in droves, leaving Tumbleton to the Blacks.

You landed Belerix near the center of the town, his bloodied claws sinking into the scorched earth. Addam dismounted Seasmoke, his face pale but resolute as he approached.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, your gaze sweeping over the battlefield. “Tumbleton is ours. The traitors are dead.”

Jason arrived moments later, his armor smeared with blood and soot. “We’ve secured the town,” he reported, his tone grim. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

You dismounted, your legs trembling as you steadied yourself. 

The three of you stood amidst the wreckage, the weight of your victory tempered by the knowledge of what lay ahead. The dragons roared one last time, their cries echoing across the desolate battlefield as a reminder of the price of power.

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and amber, an ominous prelude to the events unfolding below. The roar of Balerix, your sapphire-and-silver dragon, reverberated across the expanse as he flew alongside Syrax, Rhaenyra’s golden-hued dragon. The capital of King’s Landing loomed ahead, its walls and towers casting long shadows over the city. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, but soon, a darker smoke would rise to mark the beginning of a new rule.

Below, Corlys Velaryon led his fleet into Blackwater Bay, their sails emblazoned with the seahorse of Driftmark. Beside him marched Daemon Targaryen, his dark armor glinting menacingly as he led the ground forces—a combined force of Velaryon soldiers, Lannister bannermen commanded by Tyland and Loren, and the remnants of loyal troops from the Riverlands.

The sight of the dragons overhead spread panic through the streets of King’s Landing. Smallfolk screamed and scattered, soldiers on the walls froze in terror, and bells began to toll—first as a warning, then as a call for surrender.

Rhaenyra’s voice carried through the wind as she turned to you, her silver hair whipping around her face. “This city will fall today, sister,” she said, her tone cold. “And with it, the Greens.”

You nodded, your gaze fixed on the Red Keep, where banners of green still flew defiantly. “Otto and Alicent will answer for their crimes.”

As the dragons descended, Syrax let out a piercing roar, her flames scorching the gates of the city. The wooden beams and metal hinges glowed red-hot, the force of the fire splintering them apart. Balerix followed, his sapphire flames engulfing the surrounding walls, sending defenders scattering.

The gates gave way, and Daemon's forces surged forward, the sound of clashing steel and war cries filling the air. Corlys’s ships unleashed volleys of arrows and flaming projectiles, striking key positions along the harbor to prevent reinforcements from arriving by sea.

As Syrax and Balerix soared above the city, their shadows casting fear onto the panicked masses, you followed Rhaenyra’s lead toward the Red Keep. The Keep stood defiant, its towering walls a stark reminder of the Targaryen dynasty's strength. But today, that dynasty was fractured, and you were here to reunite it by fire and blood.

“Hold back no longer!” Rhaenyra commanded, guiding Syrax to land in the courtyard. Soldiers scrambled to take defensive positions, but their resolve wavered as Balerix landed beside her, his massive form dwarfing them.

You dismounted, your armor gleaming in the morning light. “Surrender!” you shouted, your voice echoing off the stone walls. “Or face the wrath of the dragons!”

Some dropped their weapons, their courage faltering in the face of certain death. Others charged, desperation driving their actions. But Syrax and Balerix were swift, their flames cutting down any resistance as the Targaryen banners were hoisted in place of the green.

As you entered the Red Keep, the halls were eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of battle. Rhaenyra led the way, her gaze sharp as she approached the throne room. The doors creaked open, revealing Alicent Hightower standing at the base of the Iron Throne.

Alicent’s expression was a mixture of fear and defiance as she stepped forward. “You have no claim here, Rhaenyra,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “This throne belongs to my blood.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed as she approached, her presence commanding. “Aegon is a dead usurper. You knew this, Alicent. You orchestrated it. And now, it ends.”

You stood beside your sister, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword. “The city is ours. The Greens have lost. Stand down, or face the consequences.”

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to her daughter. Helaena clutched her children protectively, her eyes wide with fear.

“This is madness,” Alicent said, her voice breaking. “The realm will burn because of you.”

Rhaenyra’s voice was icy. “The realm burns because of you.”

With a final, piercing glare, Alicent dropped to her knees, her Helaena following reluctantly with her chidlren. The sight filled you with a grim satisfaction. The Greens were defeated.

Outside the Red Keep, the banners of House Targaryen flew high once more. Daemon and Corlys entered the gates with their victorious forces, their armor bloodied but their spirits high. Tyland and Loren dismounted nearby, their expressions weary but relieved.

Tyland approached you as you emerged from the Keep, his eyes scanning you for injuries. “You’re unharmed,” he said, his voice heavy with relief.

You nodded, resting your hand on his arm. “It’s done. The city is ours.”

Loren joined you, his youthful face hardened by the realities of war. “And the Greens?”

“On their knees,” you replied, your gaze shifting to the distant horizon. “But this is just the beginning. The realm won’t accept this easily.”

Daemon strode toward you, his smirk faint. “Let them challenge us. We have dragons, and now, we have the throne.”

The sky above King’s Landing was thick with smoke, the scent of victory mingling with the cost it had demanded. As you looked upon the city, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of what lay ahead.

An excerpt from "The Dance of Dragons: A History of the Civil War Between Targaryens" by Archmaester Vaenion

The union of Tyland Lannister and Princess Y/N Targaryen, though initially questioned by many, emerged as one of the most pivotal alliances during the Targaryen civil war. Their partnership, built on mutual respect and shared purpose, not only shaped the course of the Dance of Dragons but also cemented a lasting legacy for both House Targaryen and House Lannister.

Princess Y/N’s betrothal to Tyland Lannister was, at first glance, a surprising match. A calculated maneuver by King Viserys I, it was seen as a strategic alliance to bind the powerful Westerlands to the Iron Throne. Yet, what began as a political union quickly grew into a genuine partnership.

Tyland, known for his cunning and practicality, was often underestimated compared to his boisterous twin, Jason Lannister. However, it was Tyland’s sharp mind and unwavering loyalty that won over the Sapphire Princess. Their secret romance, whispered about in the halls of the Red Keep, became public when King Viserys formally announced their engagement. Their marriage, celebrated with great splendor, brought the Lannister banners into Queen Rhaenyra’s fold when the civil war broke out.

The War and Their Role

While many questioned the decision to involve the Westerlands so heavily in the Dance, Tyland and Y/N proved to be invaluable to Rhaenyra’s cause. Princess Y/N, with her dragon Belerix, was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Her decisive actions at Tumbleton, where she struck down the traitor Ulf the White and Prince Daeron Targaryen, marked a turning point in the war. Her sapphire flames engulfed the battlefield, earning her the title "The Sapphire Flame" among her enemies.

Tyland, meanwhile, played a more subtle but equally vital role. His ability to manage alliances, supply lines, and logistics proved critical, especially during the retaking of King’s Landing. It was said that while Rhaenyra and Daemon wielded fire and blood, Tyland wielded the quill and coin, ensuring their campaigns could continue.

Their children—Loren, Rhaelle, Kevan, Alysanne, and the youngest, Jaeryn—represented the unity of their houses. Loren, the rider of Valtyr, and Rhaelle, who bonded with Aelirys, carried forward the legacy of fire and blood alongside their parents.

Challenges and Triumphs

The war tested their bond, particularly when Loren Lannister defied his mother’s wishes to fight alongside Daemon Targaryen at Harrenhal. Tyland, ever the mediator, balanced his wife’s fiery temper with his measured reasoning, ensuring the family remained united despite the chaos. This dynamic—Y/N’s unyielding passion and Tyland’s calm pragmatism—became the cornerstone of their relationship.

Their support of Rhaenyra came at a cost. Tyland’s defiance of Otto Hightower and the Greens led to threats against his family, forcing him to flee with Y/N and their children to Casterly Rock. Their return to King’s Landing, victorious, marked a triumph not only for the Blacks but for their union as well.

A Legacy Forged in Fire

In the aftermath of the Dance, Tyland and Y/N worked tirelessly to rebuild what the war had destroyed. They strengthened alliances, secured trade for the Westerlands, and ensured that House Lannister’s role in supporting Rhaenyra’s reign was not forgotten.

Tyland’s legacy was one of intellect and resilience, a man who proved that strength came in many forms. Y/N, with her dragon and her unwavering loyalty to her sister, embodied the indomitable spirit of House Targaryen. Together, they were a testament to what could be achieved when fire and gold were united.

Their story is remembered not as one of mere political convenience, but as a tale of partnership, love, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the crucible of war.

[nyx-does-stuff]

Another Targaryen/Hightower OC cause i love that mix fr cause the Hightowers are my favourite.

Princess Rhaella Targaryen, daughter of Maegor the Cruel and Carys Hightower (oc) maybe i’ll post more abt her some day

[atopcat]

I stand by this argument: a lot of Rhaenicent content is blatantly anti Alicent Hightower.

I just saw a Rhaenicent post with this poem:

In a dream I saw my mother with the love of her life and no children. It was the happiest I'd ever seen her.

It’s awful and sickening that Alicent was a victim of spousal abuse, it’s also heartbreaking that so many women before and after her were subjected to the same fate. Difference is I don’t see long posts about Naerys not loving Daeron and Daenerys or Rhaella secretly resenting Rhaegar and Viserys. Why is the thought of Alicent loving her children despite who their father is so controversial???

What’s most ridiculous is these fans wouldn’t even consider a world where Jace, Luke and Joffrey don’t exist. Rhaenyra is allowed to have Harwin and her boys, Alicent is simply happy to be in the picture because she’s not allowed to have children of her own.

They think happy Alicent is where her entire life revolves around Rhaenyra, Alicent loves Rhaenyra more than her own children, Alicent doesn’t care her grandson was slaughtered right in front of her, Alicent doesn’t care her daughter went insane, Alicent doesn’t have any political ambition other than being secretly Team Rhaenyra etc.

Well sorry to break it to you, but this is the real Alicent Hightower:

Alicent Hightower drove the Blacks out of Kingslanding.

Alicent Hightower raised a coup against her stepdaughter.

Alicent Hightower crowned her son King.

Alicent Hightower told her granddaughter to slit Rhaenyra’s son’s throat.

Alicent Hightower cried for her children on her deathbed, begging to be reunited with them.

The real Alicent Hightower gave 0 fucks about Rhaenyra Targaryen, the only “love of her life” were her four children.

[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

[visenyaism]

okay excluding the targs who didn’t make it to adulthood, who do you think is the shortest of them? i saw ur post abt visenya and maegor being the only targs to make it so six feet so now im curious lmao

that’s hard because so many of those girls did not make it to adulthood. naerys and rhaella are obvious contenders but that’s also because so many pregnancies so young would fuck with your bones. i’ll say daena and elaena were built like sabrina carpenter (4’10) and call it a day

[readorsigh]

Condemnations of Aerys' Kingsguard

I'm just posting this because I've seen multiple people make this mistake in the past couple of months, specifically with regards to the kingsguard who tells Jaime why it's not their place to stop Aerys from raping his wife. A lot of people think it was Gerold Hightower, the at the time Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who said this to Jaime. But in truth it was Jon Darry who said it.

I think some people tend to get this moment mixed up with a different moment with Aerys' Kingsguard, that being when Jaime tells Catelyn about how Rickard and Brandon were killed by Aerys in a perverse display of trial by combat with fire as Aerys' champion.

It's clear that both moments are meant as condemnations of Aerys' Kingsguard, and for very similar reasons with regards to how they act about obeying the whims of a tyrant like Aerys. But there are distinctions to be drawn in how these actions reflect on the men in question.

With Gerold Hightower, the condemnation is primarily based in questioning the idea of unwavering loyalty in the face of atrocity. He asks Jaime to not judge Aerys, that it is not their place as Kingsguard to even condemn the king in their own minds because it goes against the very ethos of their vows to him. He goes to Jaime and stops him from even so much as thinking such ideas in the first place.

With Jon Darry, it's much more about actually having said thoughts, but still deciding against your better judgment to act in face of horrific violence. Knights are sworn to protect women and the innocent, and as Jaime points out, their vows as Kingsguard extend to protecting Rhaella as well. However, Jon points out the obvious fallacy in that idea. They have to allow the king to do as he wants and aid and abet his actions through their inaction.

Anyway, this is mostly just been me splitting hairs, but I feel like there is something more being said in either scene than just pointing out that Aerys was mad and therefore made the Kingsguard complicit in his atrocities.

Hopefully some people read this and start distinguishing them more in their analysis of the text as well

[inkandarsenic]

Ok, so expanding on this post for @heartofmortis, meet my newest oc, Nymeria Targaryen

- youngest daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, born in 283 AC, like a month or so before the sack of KL

- conceived as soon as possible after Aegon, just before the maesters declared Elia unable to have more children and Rhaegar subsequently ran off with Lyanna

- named Nymeria because Elia knew Rhaegar would’ve wanted her named Visenya, but Rhaegar ran off to have a third child with the Northern girl before he could even be informed of this pregnancy, so Elia decided to name her daughter after the legendary warrior Princess of Dorne (call it rebellion if you will — this pregnancy so soon after Aegon’s nearly killed her, and he decides he needs a daughter with the Stark girl? Fine. Elia will name her daughter from her culture, not his. Let him get his Visenya elsewhere.)

- Smuggled by her wetnurse through siege tunnels out to where Rhaella and Viserys were evacuating to Dragonstone. in the chaos after Rhaella’s death, only Viserys and Daenerys are smuggled off of Dragonstone. Stannis arrives to find a terrified nursemaid and a screaming infant less than a year old.

- Raised by Stannis Baratheon, who heard how his brother laughed at the two dead children of Elia, and refused to hand over Nymeria — Stannis is many things, but he isn’t a child-murderer yet

- She’s his ward, and technically also a hostage to keep Dorne from rising up over Elia and her children’s death — Nymeria is the last link to Elia Dorne has.

- Uses Martell name when introducing herself. Tries to distance herself from her Targaryen lineage — was raised on stories of all of the bad parts of the Targaryens as her bedtime stories and history lessons, and doesn’t like them at all.

- Oberyn and Doran work it out with Stannis so that Nymeria can be visited — under supervision, and mostly Oberyn as Doran is busier ruling Dorne — on Dragonstone by her mother’s family, and when she’s a bit older, she often spends a few months each year in Dorne. (You can pry reluctant friends Oberyn and Stannis out of my cold dead hands.)

- Robert tries HARD to get Nym betrothed to Jon — in his mind, Ned’s bastard son is more than deserving of a former princess, and what better way to keep the Targaryen spawn from rising against him than marrying her off to the son of his best friend? To his endless frustration, this goes nowhere — both Stannis and the Martells (who are actually responsible for Nym’s marriage prospects) refuse the idea — Stannis because Jon’s a bastard, the Martells because they very much do not like Robert — and Ned also refuses with no real explanation (“Jon is free to choose his own wife, Robert” when really it’s because Jon is Nym’s half brother through Rhaegar)

- Likes to help out Stannis’ maester and takes an interest in healing — both Stannis and Oberyn agree that this is a useful skill, and let her learn all she can.

- Rides out with Stannis when he goes to war; Melisandre keeps trying to convince Stannis to sacrifice her, and after Renly dies, Davos convinces Nymeria to leave, for her own safety.

- She originally intends to go south to Dorne, but comes across Catelyn and Brienne first. Upon hearing how Renly died and recognizing the account of Melisandre’s work, she realizes Dorne would be the first place Stannis would look for her — whatever Melisandre so desperately wanted Nym sacrificed for cannot be good — and she decides to go with Catelyn and Brienne to Robb’s camp instead. You can never have too many medics in a war.

- Our boy is WEAK to the pretty healers, weak I tell you, and this one is Westerosi, highborn (a princess, technically— rightful heir to the Iron Throne) and she’s a politically advantageous (the princes of Dorne would surely be on his side if he married their niece) match to boot??? He doesn’t stand a chance.

[princessrhaellatargaryen]

A Midnight Rescue

“You’re safe now, Princess, I have you. You’re safe.”

Warnings: blood, death, murder, kidnapping.

Rhaella was woken by a calloused hand covering her mouth. Eyes wide, she frantically searched for who was responsible and found two cloaked figures towering above her.

“Are you sure it’s the right one? All these Targaryen bitches look the same,” whispered the one not holding his hand over her mouth. He instead held a blade to Rhaella’s throat, she was able to see it winking up at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Positive. He said she’d be in these rooms, with silver ‘air and purple eyes,” replied the one whose hand was covering her mouth. “We followed the map true and I see silver ‘air and purple eyes.”

“I dunno, her eyes look kinda blue,” the man holding the knife. Rhaella slowly reached out for the book next to her on the bed while they were distracted with their bickering over the exact shade of her eyes and chucked it at the one with the knife on her throat. “Oi!” he cried, releasing the knife and clutching his bleeding forehead.

Rhaella bit down on the other man’s hand and he cried out in pain. Blood dripping from her mouth, she rolled over to the other side of the bed and bolted for the door. She managed to get it open but her relief was short lived as her feet slipped on something and came crashing down. Horror coursed through her as she realized what the cause of her fall was: blood. The guard posted outside the door had been slain.

Rhaella was pulled to her feet sharply by her hair, pulling a cry from her lips. She blindly kicked out and scratched around her in a desperate attempt to subdue her attackers. A groan of pain came from behind her but Rhaella felt a sharp pain splinter from her jaw. She was pulled against the chest of one of the men, blade at her throat once more, though it was no longer gently resting on her skin.

���Fucking bitch broke my nose!” cried the other man across from her, his hands cradling his face as blood dripped from between his fingers.

“Tie her up so she can’t do it again, idiot,” the one holding her said, the blade cutting into the delicate skin of Rhaella’s neck. Blood dribbled down her chest to join the blood of the dead guard, which marred the fine white linen of her nightgown.

In the dying light of the fire, Rhaella helplessly watched as the man with the now broken nose roughly tied her hands together, the coarse rope soaking up the blood that coated her wrists. He grabbed a blanket draped over one of the armchairs across from the fireplace and threw it over her head and shoulders. The man behind her moved the knife from her throat and dug it into her side.

“Now we’re going to walk outta ‘ere nice and quiet like. You make a sound, bitch, and I gut you like I did your man out there, yeah?” he growled into Rhaella’s ear. Heart thundering in her chest, she nodded shakily. “Good, now walk.” He prodded her forward.

Rhaella followed the man with the broken nose, her eyes trained on the center of his back as they left the room, carefully avoiding the massacred body of the guard at her feet. His blood squelched through her toes and left a crimson trail behind them as she was led to an unknown fate.

The Red Keep was still and quieter than she’d ever seen it. Torches were lit but everyone was abed, as Rhaella should have been. She had fallen asleep in her mother’s bed, waiting for her to return from saying goodnight to the younger children. Rhaella had been engrossed in a tome about the fall of Old Valyria, given to her by her grandsire, the King. Her father was out riding with the older boys, teaching them how to fly their dragons at night. As Rhaella had yet to claim a dragon, she was not invited. So, she instead came to her mother’s chambers, waiting for her, and read until she fell asleep.

These men were no doubt hoping to find the heir to the throne, the Princess Rhaenyra, asleep in her chambers instead of her eldest daughter. However, as one of them had pointed out, the Targaryen women did look very similar. Both had long white hair, but where her mother’s eyes were lilac, Rhaella’s were periwinkle. An incredibly subtle difference, difficult to make out in the light of a dying fire. Due to a case of mistaken identity, Rhaella was now about to pay the price of being the heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

The blood had now dried on the bottom of Rhaella’s feet, no longer leaving a trail of footprints behind them. Any hope of someone following that trail and finding her within the walls of the Red Keep were gone. Tears pricked at her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the dried blood there. Rhaella thought in the back of her mind that she was more blood than person at this point, covered in the blood of two people, not even including herself.

Their trek through the Keep had been quiet and uneventful, strange, given the amount of Kingsguard supposedly required to be on duty during the Hour of the Owl. It was almost as if someone had plucked each of the guards from their stations, purposefully ensuring that their path be free from deterrents.

Rhaella knew that once they left the Red Keep and entered the gardens, she would have one last chance to escape. One last chance to fight back. She desperately looked for a guard, but none were to be found. Steeling herself for further pain, she took a steadying breath and rammed her elbow into the gut of the man behind her.

His blade pinched her side, but Rhaella sprinted, pulling up her bloodied nightgown so as not to get tangled in her legs. She screamed as she ran, taking sharp turns through the hedges in an attempt to lose the two men.

Rhaella chanced a look behind her and was relieved when she did not see anyone on her trail until she ran into a hard body.

“No! You will not take me! Help! Please! Someone help!” Rhaella screamed in terror, hammering her bound fists on the body in front of her.

“Princess! What in the Seven Hells has happened?” asked a familiar voice. Rhaella gasped and looked up. The piercing stare of her uncle Aemond greeted her. She sagged against him in relief, tears freely flowing down her face. His hands grasped her shoulders as he assessed, in shock, the sight in front of him.

Rhaella’s hair was unbound, falling around her in messy waves, the white strands caked in blood in some places. Her lip was split and a bruise was forming on her jaw. Tears trailed through dried blood around her mouth, which had dripped down her chin. Her neck had a slice across it, which had drawn more blood. The fine white linen of her nightgown was absolutely soaked in blood, Aemond unsure if it was hers or not.

Approaching footsteps drew him out of his shock and assessment as two cloaked men rounded a tall shrub.

“Oh shit, that’s the Prince!” the one with the knife swore, shoving the other in front of him as he fled. Aemond sprang into action.

Steel sang as he drew his sword and pursued them, easily cutting down one and following the other around the shrub. Rhaella grasped the pillar next to her and slid down, the adrenaline leaving her body as quickly as it came. She blankly stared at the man Aemond had killed, watching him as blood seeped out from him. So much blood on this night.

Aemond returned at some point, though how much time had passed, Rhaella was unsure. He sheathed his blade and knelt down in front of her, the moonlight glinting off his hair. Concern was etched on his face as his lips moved, but no sound came out. At least, Rhaella did not think so. He gently cupped her face and repeated himself.

“Princess, are you injured anywhere else? Can you stand?” he asked, his brow furrowed. Rhaella barely shook her head, knowing her legs no longer worked. Aemond nodded and carefully lifted her arms over his head and scooped her up gently against his chest. He rose and carried her back inside the Red Keep, stepping over the body of one of her captors. Where the other was, Rhaella neither knew nor cared.

She clung to Aemond, burying her face in his shoulder, shuddering breaths shaking her shoulders. His thumb gently rubbed her arm as he climbed the stairs.

“You’re safe now, Princess, I have you. You’re safe,” he reassured her. Rhaella shakily nodded and pressed herself closer into his arms, if possible. He was warm and smelled of spice and leather, which helped Rhaella ground herself. Safe. She was safe. Aemond had her. Safe.

He rounded a corner and they were greeted by the panicked, near hysterical sounds of a crowd.

“Send out a search party! I want the Princess found!” commanded Daemon.

“At once, my Prince,” replied Ser Westerling. “Ser Arryk, Ser Erryk, with me. We follow the blood trail and from there we-“ he was interrupted by a sharp cry.

“Rhaella!” Rhaenyra ran over to her and Aemond, her dressing gown billowing out behind her. “Thank the gods! What happened? Are you hurt?” she questioned, helping Rhaella to her feet. Rhaella’s arms were still around Aemond’s neck, his hands steadying her on her waist.

“She’s covered in blood! What did you do to her?” Daemon sharply questioned, approaching Aemond, his hand going to Dark Sister.

Rhaenyra’s hands were investigating the cause of the blood on Rhaella’s nightgown and her touch snapped Rhaella out of her daze. With a broken cry, she removed her still-bound wrists from around Aemond’s neck and collapsed in her mother’s arms, sobbing.

“Shhh, sweet girl, I’m here. Your mother is here,” Rhaenyra said into Rhaella’s hair, kissing the top of her head, her arms wrapped around her trembling frame.

“I won’t ask you a third time, Princeling, what the fuck happened to my daughter?” Daemon demanded, drawing Dark Sister. Aemond drew his own sword in response, ready to defend himself.

“I was simply out for a walk in the gardens when the Princess found me. She was running from two captors, one of whom is now dead, the other is incapacitated behind the statue of the nymphs. Go and see for yourself, uncle. No harm fell upon her from my own hand,” Aemond replied, his eye trained on Daemon. Rhaella, sniffed, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she broke away from her mother and stood in front of Aemond.

“What he says is true, father,” her bound hands in front of her. Aemond sheathed his sword and gently got to work, untying the rough rope from her raw wrists. Rhaella relayed the story to the crowd, noticing everyone who stood around her, intently listening. Not only were her parents there, but also Jace, Luke, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, Viserys, Rhaenys, Corlys, Otto, Laena, and Laenor, in addition to several members of the Kingsguard.

“I ran through the gardens and ran into him,” Rhaella finished. “He saved me. Go into the gardens and see for yourself. He did not lie. If it weren’t for him, gods know where I’d be now. I’d have met whatever fate they intended for you, mother.”

At that, Rhaenyra’s gaze snapped to Rhaella’s, the latter finally noticing her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

“This was an attack meant for the heir to the throne,” Daemon said, turning to Viserys. “For your daughter, brother.” Viserys, looking more aware than he had in ages, set his jaw and looked to the few members of the Small Council that were present.

“I want the remaining attacker questioned at once. I want to know who hired them and how they got in my fucking hall!” he shouted, turning to look at the knights of the Kingsguard around them. “Ser Rion’s death should have been prevented and my granddaughter should have been safe in her mother’s bed! I want answers before we break fast in a few hours time. I want an increased presence of the Kingsguard surrounding my family at all times. This is unacceptable!”

Ser Westerling nodded. “I take full responsibility, my King, and will thoroughly investigate as to how they went through the Red Keep undetected. I vow to have answers for you shortly, your grace,” he promised, bowing his head. “Ser Criston, Arryk, escort the members of the Royal Family back to their chambers. I want their rooms cleared before they enter,” he ordered, nodding to the two guards. They nodded, ushering everyone to follow them.

“Ser Erryk, Rickon, with me. We go to the gardens to retrieve the remaining attacker and question him. The rest of you, I want you patrolling the corridors, looking for how those vermin got in the Red Keep.” Everyone went their separate ways, Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around Rhaella and attempted to guide her back into her chambers.

“Nononononono,” Rhaella moaned, planting her feet firmly. She could not get any closer to Ser Rion’s body. The pool of blood surrounding him flickered in the torch light, the evidence of her fall clear in the disturbed puddle.

“To your chambers then, my love,” Rhaenyra said, seamlessly turning around and walking Rhaella away from his body. “We will fetch the Maester and get you cleaned up. Daemon will you-“ she started, but was interrupted by Aemond.

“I will fetch him, Princess,” he said quietly. Rhaenyra nodded and continued walking with her arm wrapped securely around Rhaella. Daemon stayed behind with Otto and Corlys to investigate the body while everyone else was escorted to their rooms. One by one, they left the party, giving Rhaella their good wishes and love, thankful that she was safe and that no mortal harm had come upon her until it was just Rhaella and Rhaenyra with Ser Criston and Ser Arryk. They approached the doors to Rhaella’s chambers and Ser Criston held out a hand to stop them from entering.

“Let us clear the room before you enter, your highnesses,” he said, nodding to Ser Arryk. Rhaenyra held Rhaella while they swept the room, checking behind curtains and in the dark corners of the room before beckoning them inside. Rhaenyra ushered Rhaella into a chair before pouring water from the pitcher on the chest of drawers into the wash basin, The two guards excused themselves after stoking the fire, giving Rhaenyra more light to work in.

Her mother gently wiped the blood off her face, taking care to avoid the split in her lip and the cut in her neck. She wordlessly worked, cleaning the blood off Rhaella’s chest and arms. There was a knock at the door.

“Come,” Rhaenyra said, wringing the water out of the cloth she was using to clean her daughter. One of the Maesters entered followed by Aemond. Upon seeing him again, Rhaella stood on wobbly legs and approached him.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lip stung at the contact but she ignored it. He looked down at her and nodded.

“No thanks necessary, Princess,” he replied quietly. Rhaella put a hand on his arm.

“You have my gratitude regardless. I dread to think of what would have happened if I had not found you out in the gardens. I can never repay you, uncle,” she said, looking up at him.

“You will never have to,” he said. Aemond bowed his head at Rhaenyra before bowing his head to Rhaella. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Thank you, brother,” Rhaenyra said, escorting Rhaella to the Maester. Rhaella watched as Aemond left, the flash of silver hair disappearing as the doors closed behind him.

Rhaella was poked and prodded by the Maester and her mother, the former determining that any wounds she had suffered were non-fatal and bandaged them quickly. Rhaenyra helped Rhaella dress in a clean nightgown and guided her to bed. Rhaella watched as the Maester left and her mother climbed into bed next to her, her arms immediately encircling Rhaella. Sobs wracked her body and Rhaella barely registered the tears that fell on the top of her head from her mother.

“I thank the gods that you have returned to me, my darling Ella. I thank each and every one,” said Rhaenyra tearfully, kissing the top of her daughter’s head and squeezing her tightly. Rhaella was glad for the pressure as it aided in soothing her shaking body. Over the next several minutes, or hours, Rhaella eventually drifted off to sleep in her mother’s arms, repeating Aemond’s words over in her mind. Safe. She was safe.