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Chapter Text

I just wanted to address something about how this particular work of mine will flesh out.

It will include a combination of book canon and show canon. 

For example; the version of Rhaenys within this story will have the physical features of her book counterpart, to better fit the canon divergent storyline I am looking to create. (But the new features of the show canon for the Velaryon family will remain the same-)

So if there are any discrepencies noted when comparing with the show specific canon, that is the reason why.

This will of course affect specific aspects of the relationships between characters, the flow of the specific storyline of the show. If that isn't something you are interested in, feel more than free to find something else that suits your reading needs!

Kind regards,

irl_selkie

Chapter Text

23rd day of the 1st Moon, 112 AC

Dearest sister,

I am well. As well as I can be.

Rhaenyra has been more than accommodating of my grief. She offers me comfort where others do not. Though I fear my constant occupation of her quarters will begin to raise questions when news of a babe does not emerge.

We have not yet begun attempting to find ways to overcome the struggles we will likely have in producing an heir, to help secure and protect our claim on the throne. But I worry. The courts have already begun to whisper about the lack of a child, mocking us and our union.

Rhaenyra bears it with a grace I had not expected. Though I can see it beginning to wear on her.

I will try my best to help her, as she has been helping me since... Since the wedding.

And thank you, Laena. For writing.

Your brother,

Laenor.

5th day of the 2nd Moon, 112 AC

Father,

We are trying.

Laenor.

17th day of the 3rd Moon, 112 AC

Mother,

Our attempts up until now have all been unsuccessful.

Rhaenyra's patience has been plentiful but I can see it is growing thin. She has been trying so hard to find ways to make it easier for me, but I cannot do it.

She is slowly beginning to refuse my company and I am terrified.

I do not want to lose another person I have grown to love dearly from inaction.

I will keep trying.

For her.

Your son,

Laenor.

30th day of the 3rd Moon, 112 AC

Mother,

We have done it. 

I am going to be a father.

Your son,

Laenor.

9th day of the 5th Moon, 112 AC

Laena,

Rhaenyra is well and has asked me to let you know she misses you dearly.

She has been progressing smoothly in her pregnancy, though she is still refusing to let any of the maesters in the Keep attend to her. I do not blame her. Not after what befell her own mother before her at their hands.

I am admittedly at a loss for what to do to help. I never imagined I would ever truly be a father after all. But Rhaenyra seems to appreciate my attempts regardless.

I will do my best to keep you all informed in the moons to come.

Laenor.

20th day of the 6th Moon, 112 AC

Father,

I hope you are well.

Laena has told me of your recent travels. Hearing of them reminded me of how little I have been on the sea in recent moons, since Rhaenyra came to be with child. Just as you were anchored to shore when mother fell pregnant with Laena and I.

They've made me reminisce on our days sailing together when I was a boy as well.

The babe has grown big enough to move now. Little kicks and flutters as Rhaenyra describes. We have spent many hours together, watching as they squirm beneath her skin. Already strong, already stubborn we joke. There is no doubt they will be with two bloodlines such as ours being joined in this child.

I know you will come to love them as dearly as I already do now.

And father, I know we have not always seen eye to eye.

But thank you.

For being my father.

Your son,

Laenor. 

12th day of the 10th Moon, 112 AC

Mother,

It has been decided that Rhaenyra will remain grounded and kept from riding Syrax. The orders come on the basis of bouts of lightheadedness and fatigue she has begun to experience now that it is growing closer to the end of the pregnancy. 

She is understandably upset by this, as I am, for riding Syrax was one of the few activities where she could truly be alone. Even with Seasmoke and I accompanying her. 

I have done my best to appease her and help her find other things to occupy her time, but her temper is far testier than what is normal.

We have a dagger stuck in the wall of our chambers to attest to that.

Is there anything you would recommend as an alternate to dragon riding? Perhaps something you had partaken in to pass the time while you were pregnant?

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Laenor.

14th day of the 10th Moon, 112 AC


Mother,

I can only assume your suggestion was meant to be a jest.

Given that I am now sporting a welt the size of a Dornish orange on my arm.

Laenor.

3rd day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Laena,

It is almost time. Rhaenyra has been on bed rest for the past day or so, citing the birthing pains as growing more and more constant. I do not doubt that her labours will be beginning soon.

There have been some strange things occurring however, around the Keep. The Queen has been making more visits the closer we come to the birth, despite having little interest in it over the course of the past few moons. I often have to direct her attention to me when she does, her fixation on Rhaenyra and our babe odd to say the least. 

The fact Cole has been trailing behind her every time has done little to dissuade my concerns.

I have asked Rhaenyra what the cause behind their behaviour could be, but she has been curt and closed off whenever the two are mentioned.

I can only hope she will come to tell me soon.

Especially after the babe arrives.

Laenor.

6th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Father, 

Rhaenyra's waters have broken and her labours have begun.

It has already been so long, nearly a full day.

I am worried.

The screams I have been hearing are too much.

I know it isn't proper but I am going to be there with her.

I need to.

Laenor.

7th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Mother,

You are a grandmother now.

Rhaenyra's labours are finally over, and she has brought our babe into the world.

We have a little baby girl. One as bronzed as my sister and I, sporting a full head of hair as dark as yours. Though I have spied threads of Valyrian silver fighting to make themselves known.

Fatherhood is truly an overwhelming and wonderful experience. She is so very beautiful, mother. I can scarcely believe that I had a hand in making her. Rhaenyra and I already love and adore her as fiercely as you love Laena and I.

However, as much as I desperately wish otherwise, not all of the news I have to give is good.

She is still and silent. There is no sign of life in her aside from the cresting, small breaths she takes. She has not opened her eyes once since her birth, has not made a single sound. Rhaenyra cannot bear to be parted from her for more than a moment and I cannot bring myself to deny her anything now. 

The midwives have been assuring us that it is a good sign that she was born warm, born breathing.

But I can see the looks they share when they do not think Rhaenyra and I can see.

I fear the worst.

Laenor.

10th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Sister,

She is so small.

So very small.

Laenor.

13th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Father,

I'm sure you have already been told of my behaviour toward the Queen and her personal Kingsguard escort, Ser Criston Cole.

As well as my actions towards the Grand Maester, who tried to rip my daughter from my wife's arms when she finally felt calm enough to let herself rest.

I will not apologise. Not when the Queen's and Grand Maester's presence would cause nothing but distress for my wife, who is already suffering enough as it is.

I do not believe that my actions will cause any repercussions for our house, as my goodfather has assured me in our discussions regarding the issue.

In regards to your other enquiry...

There have been no real changes. She still sleeps, she still breathes.

Sometimes I rest my ear to her chest just to be sure her heart is still beating.

Rhaenyra has grown more comfortable with parting with her, when it is just the two of us. Never when there is anyone else in our chambers. 

The past few days have been peaceful enough.

I've been praying.

For the first time in years.

To the Fourteen Flames, the Seven, anyone who can help our daughter.

Our baby...

My little girl is going to die, isn't she father?

Your son, 

Laenor.

14th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Mother,

The funeral preparations have begun.

I feel like one of our ships.

Unmoored without direction.

My heart feels as though it has frozen still and Rhaenyra is inconsolable. It is taking everything in me to hold her together and keep her from falling apart.

She has yet to let our daughter go.

We will see you on the morrow.

Your son,

Laenor.

14th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC

Mother, Father, Laena-,

My daughter lives.

Your son, your brother,
Laenor

Chapter Text

14th day of the 12th Moon, 112 AC 

It had started as what would look to be another glorious day for the city of King’s Landing.

The skies were clear and bright, the waters of Blackwater Bay glistening in the early morning sun. The cry of seabirds rang through the air as the smallfolk of the Capital steadily arose to start a new day. A gentle breeze drifting through to keep the temperature mellow and light.

It was as though the Gods were mocking them, yet again.

Just as they had the day they burned two other funeral pyres.

The heart of King Viserys Targaryen was heavy and full of sorrow for the entirety of that accursed morning. It was as though the aching grief he still held for his dear Aemma had been carved open once more, bleeding, raw and made all the wider to accommodate the anguish he felt at the knowledge that his worst held fears had come true. That his daughter and her husband would suffer the way they had all those years ago.

It had been draining to watch as his servants prepared the lamentably familiar set of robes for him to wear. His new wife, the Queen Alicent, had been the one to arrange them for him. While he appreciated her forethought, Viserys could not help but scoff at the finery she also had them prepare for him to choose from. To befit his station. It was as though she viewed them as talismans to provide some sort of comfort for what was to come. For what Rhaenyra, his beloved girl, would have to endure.

Mourning blacks. Oh how fucking sick he was of mourning blacks-

For yet another babe he would never have the chance to know.

She had been so still, so quiet in his hands when he had finally plucked the courage to visit them in their chambers after it was all said and done. He stayed away once the labors had begun. Couldn’t bring himself to be near the minute he heard the first screams, not after what had happened with Aemma that very last time. 

Not when Rhaenyra reminded him of her more and more every day her pregnancy progressed and her belly grew ever bigger.

At the time, he retreated to his model of Old Valyria, as he always did when his troubles began to overtake him. Working furiously on one part or another to try to drown out the sounds of her screams as she worked to bring her child into the world. He wouldn’t be any help to her. Not in this state. That was what he tried to tell himself when the guilt building in his throat threatened to swallow him whole.

It did fuck all to help in all honesty -

Regardless, he did his best to remain informed. Had ordered hourly updates of the situation from the midwives, the few maesters that seemed to be privy to even shadow the doorway of Rhaenyra's chambers. Her refusal to let even one of them touch her was unsurprising. Especially to him. The first hour or so seemed to be running smoothly, all the reports given with cheery dispositions and genuine assurance.

Then the hours grew longer and the shadows of the night began to close in.

It had been a full day. A full day of his daughter screaming herself hoarse and almost delirious with pain.

The model sat forgotten as Viserys fervently prayed, well and truly for the first time in what felt like years. He'd had no use for prayers when Aemma had died. They didn't save her. Not from him. But he was willing to try for the last piece of her he had. He did not know what would become of him if he lost Rhaenyra the way he lost her mother. He prayed to any god who could be listening. In his mother tongue of High Valyrian, in Westerosi. Begged and pleaded for hours on hours, his voice growing hoarse until finally, finally, it was over.

But, yet again, it took a turn for the worst.

He remembered how his stomach churned, his heart plummeted as the true gravity of the baby's situation was stated plainly to him. All the midwives had come to give him the news, some of them barely able to look him in the eye when their words made it clear that she would be following in the footsteps of his own children before her. There were a few of the women that dared to gaze his way with barely hidden disdain. It was clear to him that they saw this turn of events as retribution from the Gods for allowing Mellos to butcher his wife. 

He could not find it in himself to be angry. Or upset.

He couldn't blame them. 

It was the least he deserved, to be held accountable for the fate that had befallen his grandchild. He welcomed it if it meant that it would lessen the burden he knew Rhaenyra and Laenor would be piling upon themselves. He had seen how it weighed on them from the moment he laid eyes on her in her chambers. How it dogged Laenor’s steps as the other man rose to greet him, the misty sheen to his red rimmed eyes obvious despite the strained smile on his face and the firm grip his hands had on Viserys’. And his daughter, his beautiful (headstrong, loving, fierce-) girl. She looked far younger than she had in years. The robe that had been wrapped around her seemed to swallow her. It was hard to reconcile the sight she made with the fact that she had birthed a child. Even with the bundle in her arms. She was far more subdued and withdrawn than he had ever seen her, watching quietly as he made his way to her side.

Oh, how his heart broke for her all over again when she looked up at him with achingly familiar lilac eyes full of tears. Her voice trembled as she greeted him. Her arms shook as she presented her daughter to him and began to weep. Viserys himself was fighting his own tears, overcome by just how beautiful his little granddaughter was and the sadness he felt for Rhaenyra's pain. All he could do was gather them both up and into his arms, squeezing Rhaenyra tightly and pressing kisses to her tangled silver braids the way he used to when she was a child. His doublet was soaked with tears and mucus by the time she had worn herself out enough to fall into a fitful sleep, her hand stretched out to rest grasping fingers on the bundle he now held.

Laenor took it upon himself then to speak to Viserys of the past few days. He told him of how Rhaenyra had fared. Explained how he chose to remain with her throughout the whole ordeal, throwing propriety to the wind and holding her hand as she brought their child into the world. He’d felt an immeasurable fondness grow within him for his kinsman and goodson then. He had never doubted that Laenor was a good man. This only cemented what he had already known when Rhaenyra announced her intention to wed him. 

He made a note to write his cousin of her son’s dedication and evident love for his wife and child. She had always pressed the importance of their family standing steadfast and together.

Viserys had been content to leave them with their daughter after that, to let them have the time they needed with her before the inevitable. So when his wife burst into his chambers a mere few days later, demanding that he arrest his goodson for treason and punish his daughter for assault, he was surprised to say the least. He had barely managed to quell Alicent’s ire long enough to make his way to his daughter’s chambers and was greeted with a sight he never thought he would see.

Grand Maester Mellos, nursing and bemoaning a gushingly bloody nose. Ser Criston Cole stood toe to toe with his goodson, who looked far angrier than he had ever seen him, practically snarling at the other man. While his daughter sobbed loudly in their chambers. Laenor had noticed him then, immediately withdrawing and greeting him stiffly. The dragonfire in his eyes extinguished lightly but still simmering under the surface. 

Viserys felt his own, long dormant and white-hot from lack of use, rise up in answer when he finally received the truth of what had in fact occurred.

His wife had gone to visit Rhaenyra. To apparently enquire on her babe and wish her well, to give her prayers. Laenor had reluctantly bid her welcome, informing her that Rhaenyra would be abed after finally falling into another restless slumber for the first time in days. She had been the picture of saintly concern, fretting over the little bundle still sitting quietly in Rhaenyra’s arms. 

Then she turned and called for the Grand Maester and Ser Criston to enter. 

Laenor had questioned what was happening, but was held back by Criston as Mellos strode over to his slumbering wife and tried to pull the baby from her arms. Rhaenyra had reportedly awoken immediately, crying out and fighting to keep hold of her daughter while Alicent had tried to “soothe” her and informed her that they just wanted to help.

His daughter, mere days after giving birth, left Mellos with a bloody nose and ringing head for his troubles.

All seven hells broke loose then, from what Viserys had been told.

Alicent immediately ordered for Rhaenyra to be restrained, a command that prompted Laenor himself to turn his ire on Ser Criston and the other woman. In his anger, he managed to strongarm the Kingsguard knight out of the room before demanding that the Queen and Grand Maester vacate their chambers before he would have to resort to more active measures to ensure that they “leave and stay gone.”

After which, Alicent took it upon herself to come find him.

An admittedly poor choice on her part.

He’d had one of his rare rages then, in their chambers, shouting like he never had before. Least of all to Alicent, who stood before him shaking and teary eyed as she picked her nail beds the way she had when she was a child. Ser Criston and Grand Maester Mellos fared less than she, viciously berated by him for what seemed like hours while the knight scowled at the floor and the other man simpered and sniffled into his bloodstained hands.

She still hadn’t truly spoken to him since then. Retreating to her duties and handling the upkeep of their children.

He tried to feel more guilty about it.

To add to his headache, amidst all the quiet preparation for yet another funeral, Viserys had also received word from the steward of Dragonstone. It was a fervent and distressed missive, apologizing for the behindhand information and imploring for directions on what to do next. 

The fucking Cannibal.

It had not been seen in its territory on the far side of the island for days. 

How they managed to lose track of the brute had been beyond him.

He decided to send a simple reply, to keep vigilant and inform him immediately when the accursed dragon reappeared. He furthermore expressed his apologies that they were such basic instructions. Reminded them that his attention was distinctly elsewhere.

Then the day had come.

He had been awoken from his slumber, to hear his daughter's screams and cries echoing through the keep once more. But they were so keenly full of a grief and sorrow he knew all too well that he realized what he had feared the most, had come to pass.

He desperately wished Aemma was here. Not for the first time since her death. 

But she was not here.

And Viserys had to be strong. For their daughter, just as she had for him when called upon to light her own mother's funeral pyre. He would not leave her nor her husband to suffer this alone. He would dare not with the ghost of his long suffering wife and last son hanging about them all. He even honoured Rhaenyra's wishes for no one else to touch her daughter, to look upon her. To wrap her simply in her shroud as their ancestors had done.

Rhaenyra had done it herself. Choosing a light blue blanket he chokingly recognised to have belonged to her when she herself was a babe, crying all the while as Laenor stood steadfast by her side. Even carrying the bundle all the way to the Hill of Rhaenys, on a cliff just a few miles away from the dragonpit itself. She refused to let any other do so.

Her tears were still staining the fabric when she finally let them place the little body on the pyre.

Viserys gained even more enmity from his wife when he refused to hear her opinion on the matter, particularly when she tried to push for the babe to be handed over for preparations with the Silent Sisters. Her displeased expression at the service later that day was more than enough evidence of that.

But he would find himself often speculating in the years that followed. Whether that had caused the later events of the day. That perhaps the intimate manner in which Rhaenyra and Laenor prepared their daughter for her entrance into and her subsequent departure of this world had a hand in what was to come. Whether their elation, hope, grief and misery warped and twisted into an unintentional enchantment that would evolve into something unlike anything ever seen before.

For as they all stood on that grassy hill, their families and the courtiers alike, Viserys stood firm with his daughter as she continued to grieve. Ser Laenor's dragon, Seasmoke, had been chosen to light the pyre as Syrax was as bereft as her rider. Snapping at any who came too close. Laenor himself had been struggling to find the strength to give the order to the silvery dragon, clutching Rhaenyra's hand in his as he stared at the little shroud atop the pyre. It only occurred to Viserys then that his goodson was alone in this moment, his immediate family unable to be here as a result of late notice.

He had moved to reach over, to clasp his hand on the younger man's shoulder to ground him when he noticed something on the horizon. Something dark, gigantic, something-

Oh seven hells.

The Cannibal.

It was coming for King's Landing.

Viserys had never truly seen the blasted thing in it's entirety before, only ever catching glimpses of a scaled wing or spiked tail when it decided to leave it's long inhabited cave to skulk about the island of Dragonstone in search of unsuspecting dragons to make a meal of. So he never would have guessed just how enormous it actually was. He would wager a few gold dragons that it would give Vhagar herself a run for her money. 

Though, Viserys could not help but find himself entranced when he realised what the colour of the Cannibal's scales were. A deep, inky black that looked far too familiar to him.

As if Black Dread himself had been reborn.  

The crowd behind them spotted it just after he had. They took one look at the dragon, the size and shade of it's scales and immediately began to panic. Screams and cries of sheer terror began to ring in the air, growing ever louder the closer the wild dragon came. Seasmoke taking off with a frightened roar, despite his rider's orders, did little to help dissuade growing alarm. Some members of the crowd had even begun to turn tail and run down the steps winding up to cliff face, tripping and clambering over one another in their eagerness to flee to safety. 

It seemed that even his daughter was not exempt from the fear that the mere sight of the black beast inspired, crying out in horror as it grew closer and closer.

However, rather than flee, she tried to run towards the threat. Viserys and Laenor had barely been able to seize hold of her. She fought against them viciously, desperately trying to reach out to the pyre. He felt as though he was tearing her apart when her heartbreaking pleas, her prayers for the scaled menace to take her and not her babe rang out among the din, as he and his goodson did their best to pull her away. 

But it was all for naught.

The beast had arrived.

Everyone left on the Hill were buffeted and knocked away by the gusts of wind it's gigantic wingspan generated. It's bulk was so impossibly large as it landed heavily on the cliff at the very edge of the Hill. There was almost little to no room along the grassy knoll to hold it upright, one foot almost taking up the same amount of space as the whole of the group that had gathered for the service. The ground beneath them all shuddered with every movement made, every breath taken by the beast. Anxiety and compete fear rendered all of them silent and still, gazing up at the almost eldritch creature that peered down at them with hellfire green eyes.

Viserys' heart felt as though it was going to beat out of his chest. Rhaenyra grew still in his arms, her breath hitching as they watched and waited to see what it would do next.

It made no sound. It towered over them all, gazing down at them before it's eyes came to rest on her and Laenor. Something like recognition seemed to settle within it's fiery green gaze. It continued to keep it's stare trained on them both, as it slowly began to lower it's head down towards the funeral pyre.  

That had remarkably remained undisturbed by the dragon's sudden arrival.

A rumble rose up in it's throat, the very sound reverberating through the bones of those still gathered at the crest of the hill as it's snout brushed against the tiny little shroud with a gentle touch. An act that seemed so completely foreign that even those whimpering in fear were stunned into silence. The creature ignored their gawking, continuing to nuzzle and huff against the bundle. As though it...

As though it was trying to wake the babe.

When it received no movement or cry at it's ministrations, the Cannibal pulled back. It stared down at the little shroud. A beat came and went. Then suddenly, before any could react or even draw breath, the black beast reared it's head and opened up it's gigantic, fanged maw to send a peal of deep black and vibrant green dragon flame down towards the pyre.

Setting it ablaze almost instantaneously.

Viserys had never heard screams of such absolute terror and alarm until that moment, the loudest coming from his own daughter who was sobbing inconsolaby in his arms as she was forced to watch while the body of her child was reduced to ashes. Laenor fell to his knees beside her, unable to tear his eyes away from the flames. The Cannibal kept sending pulse after pulse of them down onto the rapidly spreading inferno, continuing on until the pyre had been completely incincerated in their wake. 

Then it simply sat back. Looking down at the burning heap of charcoal and ash intently, watching, waiting. 

For something, anything to happen.

Viserys had been the very first to hear it. Over the gasping cries Rhaenyra had descended into as the flames had died, the still shouting and frightened courtiers.

The wailing screams of a newborn babe.

Rising up from the still smoldering heap among the smoke and lingering heat.

He kept his gaze trained on the Cannibal, ignoring Alicent’s desperate pleas for him to leave with her as she clung to his arm. He had noted the pleased gleam that had entered the beast’s practically glowing eyes as the squalling grew louder and louder by the second. Another deep rumble erupted from it's chest, sounding far too happy with itself when it became clear that Viserys wasn't just hearing things. Especially if the reactions of those around him were anything to go by. The hushed silence that fell over the crowd made it all the more apparent that something extraordinary had just occurred.

A miracle.

Surprising even himself, Viserys was the first to slowly make an approach. He felt as though he were in a trance as he shrugged off Alicent's clutching fingers and made his way to towards the beast. His blood hummed in his veins, as though it was singing the closer he got. 

When he finally came to stand before the wild dragon, the heat pouring off of the mound of ash was just shy of unbearable. Yet he kept moving forward, stepping atop the scorching embers with little to no care. For that was where he found her.

She had been squirming naked atop the hottest area of the still burning coals, her shroud all but gone. Left as mere ashes just as her former state of being had been. It had been so hot in fact that his thick gloves had nearly been singed away from the lingering flames. She cried aloud when he reached down to reverently lifted her into his arms. So much so that he began to weep. Such a surreal difference to only seeing her quietly sleeping and barely living that he had to take a moment to truly absorb what was happening. Unbelievably, she was cold to the touch. Completely unharmed by the flames. He gazed down at her, marveling at the sight of her and ran his hand over the black and silver curls already springing forth from the crown of her head to soothe her.

His gentle touch had seemed to settle her then, lulling her into quiet snuffles and grizzling whimpers. But as her eyes slowly opened, to peer up at him blearily, Viserys felt as though he couldn't breathe.

For looking at up him, from his newly revived granddaughter's tanned little face, his mother's eyes gazed back at him.

Alyssa Targaryen had not been famed for her beauty, not like her infamous sisters Viserra and Saera. But she was well known for her beautiful and piercing two toned eyes.

He had loved his mother's eyes as a boy, loved how they shone whenever she graced him with one of her rare, lopsidedly radiant smiles. The one that she only ever showed him, his father and his brother.

Eyes that it seemed his grandchild had now inherited.

One eye a deep shade of amethyst, the other a piercing wildfire green.

Which he had come to realise, years later, was eerily akin to those belonging to the Cannibal. 

He began to sob in earnest, so caught off guard by the sight of those dearly remembered eyes, that he did not even register Laenor coming to stand by his side. The other man immediately began to cry out, tears of elation spilling down his face as he turned to confirm what most had already guessed.

The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and her husband Ser Laenor was inexplicably alive and well.

Viserys turned to face his daughter, his eyes welling further with tears at the awestruck and disbelieving look on his beloved girl's face as he ignored the rising cries of disbelief and held her babe aloft and called out to her and only her; 

"Her eyes. She has my mother's eyes!"

Chapter Text

7th day of the 12th Moon, 114 AC

It was her daughter’s name day.

Her princess, her little warrior, was now two summers old.

By the gods, the time had gone by so fast.

She’d been such a small thing when she was born. One would have a hard time reconciling that tiny bundle with the boisterous child that had taken her place.

Growing ever stronger and ever bolder as the days passed.

So much in fact that she apparently felt confident and steady enough on her feet to try toddling after her mother and father with abandon. Endlessly picking herself back up anytime her clumsy feet got the best of her and sent her tumbling to the floor. Though, while her little love was becoming more independent by the day, she was still a babe. So the occasional tantrum was commonplace whenever her temper got the better of her.

Princess Valaena Velaryon, second of her name, was nothing if not stubborn.

  She was her daughter after all.  

Now, Rhaenyra Targaryen was known for many things.

Being named Crown Princess.

The heir to the Iron Throne.

The Realm's Delight.

And by many other less than flattering titles, stoked into life by the coiling green vipers that had slithered their way into what should have been her home.

But for all the slander directed her way, some less subtle than others, Rhaenyra was never known to be fearful. Always carrying herself with as much grace as she could in the face of backhanded compliments and mocking smiles. Her efforts did eventually gain her a begrudging respect, treacherous eyes trailing her as she navigated the muddied waters of courtly life in the Red Keep.

She knew they had wanted her to be afraid, to lash out and justify their poisonous whispers.

But admittedly, Rhaenyra herself could not recall many times of her life where she had truly ever felt afraid.

There were only four instances she could presently recall of feeling frightened, all of which had struck such a cord within her soul that she doubted she could ever forget them.

The first stirrings were felt, guiltily, during her youth. 

It welled up from deep inside her as she gazed at her mother, whose belly had been swollen full with the last of a long line of ill fated siblings she never had the chance to know. Now Aemma Arryn had never been the image of good health and vigor, born frail and kept that way from being wedded and bedded too soon. Like her very own mother, Daella Targaryen, before her. But never had Rhaenyra been more aware of her mother’s mortality until that moment. All for, and at the hands of, her loving father. But her well founded fears for Aemma were admittedly shadowed within her own selfish fears for herself and her future. At the thought of suffering a fate that had befallen so many before her. One that others, her own mother included, had told her was one of the only honors that she could openly lay claim to in the eyes of the realm.

Merely for being born a woman.

Not the son her father so desperately seemed to crave. The one he doomed his beloved wife for and likely would have done again if she had survived.

Rhaenyra continues to be unsure of whether she could ever truly forgive him for that.

Even now, years later.

Nor could she seem to rid her mouth of the taste of the poisonous relief that had pooled in the back of her throat when she stood quivering before the lords of the realm when he finally, finally, named her his heir apparent. 

The second arose when her father announced just who he would remarry. It spread through her in a way she imagined winter frost would, steadily settling as an icy weight in her chest. Freezing her to her seat while she processed just what had been said. What had been spoken into reality to effectively shatter her own. When she finally regained enough of her senses to turn and stare at the girl she had shared so much with, who knew her innermost thoughts and dreams as if they were her very own, Rhaenyra felt as though she was looking at one of the fabled faceless men her uncle used to whisper hushed tales of. A complete stranger who had stolen the face of one of the few people she loved so dearly, who should have been hers and only hers, if only to come close and slip a blade between her ribs. All the while whispering the sweet words and promises she had grown to desperately crave like poisonous honey. A stranger who now cried out pleas of forgiveness as if she hadn’t just carved out Rhaenyra’s heart and left her to bleed.

She doubts she will ever forget the look on Alicent’s face, in her eyes, the tears that spilled down cheeks flushed by sorrow and the blood that dripped from torn fingers when Rhaenyra rebuked her with such a deep and burning reproach that surprised and, though she would adamantly deny it to any who would dare ask, made her feel ashamed of herself well until the hour of the wolf later that eve.

No matter how hard she tried not to feel as such.

She was a dragon after all. Creatures well known for their territorial and possessive natures.

Though there were many times after where she would dare to look the other girl’s way. Always finding doe-like eyes meeting hers, full of a cautious hope that had her nearly in tears before she looked away.

She knew then that the frosty feeling that had gripped her that day, it was a fear of being without her. 

Her dearly beloved Alicent.

The amount of times she nearly bent in her own resolve was more than enough evidence of that.

The next was during her own wedding to her kinsman, Laenor Velaryon. She had already felt a sense of dread building up to the day, an almost eerie premonition that something would drastically go awry. The discussion she had with Alicent, regarding her and Daemon did little to dissuade the burgeoning feeling. Her own dismissiveness towards Ser Criston and his heartfelt but meager offerings of love and Dornish oranges had been borne of it. 

Now, while she occasionally let her temper rule her, Rhaenyra did not particularly have a stomach for unnecessary cruelty. She tried her best to be gentle with her sworn knight, to give him her genuine reasoning for turning down his pleas for her to leave with him. All the while feeling shame creep up within her for not doing her best to keep him aware that a shared bed was all she could truly give him, hushed intimacy in the privacy of her rooms. 

But his ferocious outburst in reply had left her shaken.

For a man so concerned with honor and duty, he scarcely seemed to be understanding when she told him of her own duty to her kingdom. When she tried to tell him that he would still hold an esteemed place within her heart.

He had avoided her as often as he could after, still performing his duties but treating her very stiffly and dismissively anytime she attempted to speak with him. Or tried to bridge the rift that she had inadvertently caused between them.

Which only grew wider and wider as the days continued to pass.

Alicent entering the throne room, strangely tardy as opposed to her typically timely nature, had been the nail in the coffin. Sweeping in wearing her gown of shimmering green silk and a darkly foreboding look upon her face had shaken Rhaenyra.  Looking back, she recognised her stupidity in not truly taking it as the omen it truly was. The sign of everything going awry, much like her own relationship with the other woman. Instead she had tried her best to dismiss it, to wash down the lump in her throat with the finest arbor gold she had ever tasted.

Her father wasted no expense on this farce of a wedding after all. She may as well have tried to enjoy it.

For all her trepidation though, particularly surrounding the inevitable bedding ceremony, Rhaenyra did find herself having a merry time. She laughed and danced, whispered jokes and quips about specific courtiers with her soon to be husband. By all standards, her wedding feast was far better than most.

Then Daemon took her for a dance, reminded her of just what she truly desired and left her wanting. 

Yet again.

Then chaos broke out as Criston, sweet and steadfast Criston, began attacking Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and beat the other knight into a bloody pulp.

Rhaenyra had never had the chance to meet Ser Joffrey, her husband’s lover. She only knew of how Laenor’s eyes lit up far brighter than she had ever seen at the mere mention of him. That he was one of the few people who saw Laenor as he was and accepted him wholly. That alone had made Rhaenyra feel a certain degree of fondness for the knight, bidding for Laenor to introduce them after their union was confirmed. After all, anyone held in such high esteem by Laenor Velaryon could be little else but wonderful.

So to see him being beaten down upon and crushed into a pool of blood and twisted flesh? By the very hand of her own lover no less? She had felt as though she needed to heave the contents of her belly onto the throne room floor at the sight, at the sounds Criston's fists made as he went on and on.

She will never forget the look on his face when she managed to catch his eye. The pure rage and disdain she saw gleaming in his gaze, the very image of his face streaked with the blood and viscera of Joffrey Lonmouth’s remains, haunts her even now.

Perhaps less so than the screams that left Laenor at the sight of the man he loved reduced to nothing but a sanguine paste across the glossy tiles leading up to the Iron Throne.

She tried her best to keep his eyes from the hastily cleaned blood as they said their vows later that eve. To wipe his tears when they retired to their bedchambers after.

Rhaenyra had never truly felt comfortable being alone with Criston ever since. 

She still had to fight the urge to shield her children from him whenever he breezed past them without a second glance, trailing behind Alicent like a loyal dog.

The last had been the very day her daughter, her blessed firstborn, came into the world. As well as the days that followed. Seven excruciating days. Seven mornings and seven nights where her little girl laid still and silent. With no signs of life aside from light breaths that crested and fell like waves lapping at shore. 

She will never forget the stabbing, aching panic that overwhelmed her the moment her daughter came into the world without a sound. She’d been told by other women who had borne children that most infants came out squalling or wailing. But some, her own dead and gone siblings included, were born quiet and cold. The only saving grace her babe seemed to have was that she was in fact warm and breathing.

 Rhaenyra had become a feral thing by the end, practically frothing at the mouth and snarling at anyone other than Laenor when they came too close to her and the tiny bundle in her arms. From what she had been told after all had been said and done, she even attempted to maul the Grand Maester in a brief spell of delirium when he tried to pry the babe away from her in a moment of fitful rest.

All under the order of the Queen and being enforced by none other than Ser Criston.

It was only until her husband, calm and appeasing Laenor, burst into an uncommon rage that silenced even her that the situation resolved itself. He demanded that they be left alone, even risked being accused of treason on her behalf by throwing them from their chambers as she clutched their daughter to her breast and wept. From what little of the commotion she could hear over her own cries, her father had apparently been brought in to mediate the situation. 

Laenor would not tell her what was done or said after. No matter how many times she had asked.

She remembered how quiet those remaining days were. When only the most trusted of her handmaidens and midwives were allowed in their rooms. How Laenor doted upon both her and their babe. He often held her in his arms for hours, singing quietly and rocking her gently when Rhaenyra would reluctantly relinquish her hold of her. Even speaking to her in what little Valyrian he knew to follow Rhaenyra’s example.

She never felt more thankful that she chose him than then as she watched the pair.

Even feeling a bit of remorse for how easily she had asked Daemon to take her as his at their wedding.

Laenor even helped Rhaenyra rise and cleanse herself, dutifully brushing and braiding her hair from the tangled mess of matted curls it had turned into from her labors. He offered her a smile after he had done it the first time, when she looked at him questioningly and turned the thick braids over in her hands. “I have a sister you know.” He teased halfheartedly, bringing a small smile to her own face in response.

She wondered then how Laena was faring. The last she had heard of her other Velaryon cousin was Laenor’s account of how she and the heir to the Sealord of Braavos were still not yet married, his father continuing to prolong the engagement in response to the man’s irresponsible nature.

She knew that the other woman would be thrilled about her new niece, likely to be as reverent of her as her brother clearly was. “I do hope it’s a girl, cousin. We need more women in this family. Don’t you agree?” Laena had once said when Rhaenyra and Laenor last visited Driftmark, giving her a conspiratorial wink and a warm, sunny smile.

She couldn’t have agreed more.

Though she had never imagined this would be possible. That it would be Laenor’s child she carried inside her. They had been trying for so long, struggling to work around Laenor’s preferences and her own longing for another. It had slowly become a point of contention for them, almost pushing them apart completely. But then they tried once more, her husband full of a new vigor as he told her of a different method of conception that wouldn’t require her to suffer a lover of his in their bed.

She hadn’t been expecting anything to come of it, willing to try simply for the fact that Laenor had been so adamant on doing something to help. 

But it had indeed worked. 

She still remembered the way the shock lingered over the both of them when she finally gathered the nerve to tell him, even when he drew her close in a tight embrace and whispered soft, reverent congratulations in her ear.

They only grew closer in the months leading up to their daughter’s birth, Laenor being attentive and open to helping her with every little whim she had. Helping to settle her when she got antsy after being told she was no longer able to ride her golden girl. Closer still after their daughter had been born and had yet to do anything but sleep and breathe.

Blessedly she was still breathing.

She had spent hours, those first few days after the birth, just drinking in the blend of their features that made up her daughter’s face. Touching her fingertips to tiny paper-thin eyelids that stubbornly remained closed. Her skin was paler than her father’s but still a far deeper shade than her own and already bore a riot of curls rising from her scalp, that were curiously both dark and light. With some strands being as black as those of her grandmother Rhaenys while others were nearly as pale as her own.

Rhaenyra had heard of some Valyrian children possessing otherwise full heads of golden or silver hair with vivid streaks of the opposing color threaded through their locks. But never had she seen or heard of any like her daughter's.

She had yet to know what color her baby’s eyes were.

And as the days passed and the nights closed in, she was so sure she never would have the chance to.

She could still feel the sobering effect of grief had upon them when it was deemed certain that their babe was doomed to die. The way they clung to one another and wept for this child who they would never get to know or love. 

The day her little girl stopped breathing was and still is one of the worst days of her life.

The wail that rose from deep within her, from her very soul, when she woke to find her baby dead in her arms was loud enough to echo throughout the whole of the Red Keep. She could not even hope to stop her sobbing, clutching the tiny body to her breast and pressing watery kisses upon her daughter’s cold brow.

That was how Laenor found her, how he joined her in her grieving as they curled up together and held one another through the tears.  

The preparations of her daughter’s funeral day had passed in a blur.

The only things Rhaenyra could remember with any real clarity were how her hands shook as she tenderly wrapped her babe in a pseudo death shroud, a blanket bearing the falcon sigil of House Arryn, that her own mother handmade herself for her when she was but an infant. The light blue fabric had been dark from dampness caused by her seemingly never ending tears once she had finally gathered the strength to draw the folds of makeshift shroud over her daughter’s pale and peaceful face.

The other was the dizzying realization that somehow, miraculously, her daughter was alive. 

Rhaenyra had not truly recognised what the coming of the dragon, the Cannibal, had not known what it’s arrival could have possibly meant. All she had felt when she saw the gigantic shadow floating towards them from the horizon was a sense of dread. All she had known when she looked from the beast to where her baby’s body lay resting on her funeral pyre, was that it was coming for her. 

She had begged for it to take her, to consume her instead. She could not bear to be parted from her daughter yet again, for her to go somewhere Rhaenyra could not follow. It was only her father and husband’s hands that kept her from her demise, holding fast despite her pleas and her fists lashing out and catching on any part of them she could reach.

Rhaenyra had continued to plead and bargain with the Cannibal, even as it set her babe’s pyre aflame. In both High Valyrian and Westerosi, in any manner she could think of as she screamed and cried. Her father’s arms around her had been the only thing keeping her upright while she wept and mourned.

But when he pulled away, making his way towards the dreaded beast and what was left of her babe, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but feel an unexpected sense of hope well up within her. Then she heard her baby cry, saw her father hold her to the sky and blessedly saw her daughter, her little girl-

She was alive.

She was alive and she was screaming to high heavens, and Rhaenyra had never been more elated to hear a wailing babe in all her life. 

She had immediately begun to crawl toward them, practically throwing herself at her father as she desperately reached out to take her squalling daughter into her arms. She wailed in turn, tucking her babe beneath her chin and pressing endless kisses to her face and hands in greeting. Laenor had joined her then, just as he had when their daughter had died, and wept with her again.

Though their tears in that moment were blessedly full of joy, not sorrow.

It had taken a long while for them to truly come to terms with what had occurred. To let their girl out of their sight for fear that she would disappear again. Even longer still to choose a name for her. 

There had been suggestions of naming her for Rhaenyra's mother, Aemma. Or her paternal grandmother even. It had been brought up by her father, insisted upon in fact, for he was the first of many who had immediately noted the uncanny resemblance their daughter's eyes bore to those of Alyssa Targaryen. 

Laenor and Rhaenyra had both felt that naming their daughter for either woman was in poor taste, particularly when taking the manner of their deaths into account.

The fact that there were already rumors making rounds of the Keep and the city below about how their daughter was an ill omen, that Rhaenyra had used Valyrian blood magic and the very bones of her own grandmother to resurrect her daughter. That her baby was in fact a child of the Stranger given flesh.

All in all doing very little to endear them to naming her after Alyssa.

That, and the fact that the dragon who had become inexplicably bound to their daughter was well known for consuming it's own kind, dead or alive, did little to dispel the whispers of the courtly rabble.

But they reluctantly agreed to, at the very least, consider using either.

It was not until Rhaenyra had been reading a heavy tome she had spirited away from the Valyrian section of the library within the Red Keep, filled to the brim of their family history, to their daughter in an attempt to lull her into slumber when inspiration had struck.

Lady Valaena Velaryon of Dragonstone had been the very first link the Targaryen family held to their Velaryon kinsman. The wife of Lord Aerion Targaryen of Dragonstone and the beloved mother of Aegon the Conqueror, Rhaenys I Targaryen and Visenya Targaryen.

As well as the mother to one of the greatest royal dynasties ever seen in Westerosi history.

It was only fitting that their daughter, carrying blood from both House Velaryon and House Targaryen in her veins, be named for the woman who helped begin it all.

Her father had been put out by their decision, but grew to be fond of their chosen name for their girl. Particularly when they told him of the significance and what it symbolized for their houses.

“A babe with a name handpicked as a reminder of the blood that ties and unites us. How wonderful my girl, how wonderful indeed.”

The days continued to pass. Rhaenyra and Laenor’s well placed anxieties slowly settled, the pair growing content in the little family they had made with their daughter.

Their little Valaena.

It was not long until their family of three grew, Rhaenyra falling pregnant with another babe within less than a year of her daughter’s birth. She had been wary of having another babe so soon after the stresses of what had occurred with Valaena, but found herself deeply missing the little babe her girl had been. It had seemed like only yesterday that she was a tiny little thing in her arms. Able to be carried for hours upon hours. Then in the blink of an eye, she had become a precocious and fearless toddler who preferred to hold Rhaenyra’s hand to walk beside her than be held.

It did little to help that she desperately wanted a piece of her new lover, Ser Harwin ‘Breakbones’ of House Strong, that she could love and dote upon openly in the eyes of the court. She had not expected to come to love Harwin as deeply as she did. She had still been so hung up upon Daemon, still so shaken by what had happened with Criston that the very idea of taking another lover did not cross her mind for a good long while. But coming to care for Harwin was easy, growing to love him even more so. Particularly when he doted on Valaena so when he came to visit her in her chambers. 

Seeing him that way made her deeply want to give him children of his own.

So when Rhaenyra found herself pregnant with his babe, she made the choice to keep it. She informed Laenor of her decision and did her best to convince him that everything would be fine. Though she admittedly should have been less surprised that his concerns mainly laid with her own wellbeing instead of the fact that she carried another man’s child within her. 

Dearest Laenor, sweet and kind man that he was, immediately accepted her unborn child as his own. Vowed to love them just as fiercely as their girl, to shelter them under his family name if any questions were asked or rumors were brought to their attention.

Yet again, Rhaenyra thanked the gods that she chose him to be her husband.

Jacaerys Velaryon came into the world nine moons later, blessedly red faced and screaming when he slipped free from her body. She sobbed less from the pain her labors were still wreaking on her aching body and more from the relief that she would not have to suffer as she had with Valaena a year before.

Her son was as dark haired as his sister had been, a fact lauded yet again to the dark hair of his legal grandmother making it’s mark on her descendants. His blue eyes were similarly attributed to the less violet and more blue eyes of Rhaenyra’s mother, any Targaryen trait insisted upon to mask any resemblance her boy bore to his blood father.

Rhaenyra and Laenor did worry for how Valaena would fare with her new sibling, the girl was used to having all their attention and love to herself after all. But she took to being an older sister like a duck to water, spending most of her mother’s pregnancy whispering conspiratorially to her swollen belly and stroking it as gently as she could manage. Her manner had been much the same when she first saw her baby brother, immediately curling up to him and her mother with a look of pure wonder on her face as she reached out to brush her fingertips along his baby soft cheek.

Rhaenyra saw the very same look in Harwin’s eyes when she presented their son to him later that eve.

Valaena and Jacaerys had been thick as thieves ever since.

Rhaenyra had truly lost count of how often she found her two children curled up together in the corner of their nursery, fast asleep with an open book still sitting in her daughter's lap. Sometimes with their respective father's in tow, Laenor levelling a fond grin her way while Harwin's warm gaze set her own aflame. Her heart felt so full whenever she found them that way, her face aching from her wide and bright smile at the sight of them. She felt far happier than she had in years, more content and less wanting than ever before.

She adored them all with every fiber of her very being.

Which made their current position all the more precarious.

Valaena was her heir. Rhaenyra refused to be dissuaded from the notion, not even when Jacaerys was born. And much like when she had been raised to the status as her own father's heir, her choice to install her daughter as her's in turn was met with distinct opposition.

None more so prevalent as that of Alicent and her followers at court. 

Not that the other woman was ever vocal of her own reservations of allowing Valaena to remain Rhaenyra's heir. Consistently turning to poisoned honey and sickly sweet words to mask the obvious distaste Alicent bore for Rhaenyra's first born child. They had not been friends in years, but it was still an easy thing for her to tell what the Hightower queen was truly thinking. What, with the way her eyes narrowed at Valaena when she felt nobody was looking, how she clenched her fingers together to keep from picking her nail beds.

Queen Alicent Hightower was afraid of Rhaenyra's daughter and what her very existence meant for the realm as a whole.

What her existence meant for her own children, Rhaenyra's younger brothers and sister.

Rhaenyra knew, from her own experience, that a frightened mother was a dangerous thing indeed. A frightened mother who just so happened be a Queen? Even more so.

Not that her daughter seemed to pay her grandfather's wife much mind. She trailed after Alicent's younger son, Aemond, nearly as much as she did after Rhaenyra and Laenor. Valaena indeed seemed to be enamoured with her young uncle. Always following him about, pleading him to play with her whenever Jacaerys was put to bed for a noonday rest. 

Rhaenyra had struggled with accepting her daughter's attachment to Aemond, constantly fearful of the boy being bent to his mother's will and doing something to harm Valaena in any way. But she slowly grew used to her brother's presence as time passed. Even offering an occasional smile, when he would come to play in their nursery at Valaena's behest, in response to his timid greetings.

Though admittedly, she did secretly enjoy how Alicent's face would scrunch at the mere mention of the growing frequency of their interactions. How she would immediately try to smoothe her expression of displeasure into banal and saintly geniality. 

It almost reminded her of earlier days, when Rhaenyra would try her best to break Alicent's lady-like and proper countenance with filthy whispers and sniggered retorts that would leave the other girl beet red in the face.

She found herself missing those days more than ever now when she watched their respective children frolick together. Seeing Aemond come out of his shell and smiling more in response to Valaena's boisterous nature reminded her of how his mother had done the very same with her.

She used to look at Rhaenyra like she had hung the sun in the sky.

Now all Alicent seemed to feel for her was little else besides disdain and exasperation. 

Her father did little to help his wife's bitterness in regards to his granddaughter. Viserys doted upon Valaena nearly as much as he had with her, always lifting her to sit on his knee whenever they went to his chambers for a tea or to break their fast and entrancing her girl with grand tales of their homeland as she absentmindedly chewed at a lemon cake in each of her pudgy hands.

It was far more than any of Alicent's children by him received. 

Not that they received anything more from their mother, so focused on their duties and manners than allowing them to actually be the children they were.

Rhaenyra had noted as such when she saw how skittish Aemond had been when Valaena simply barrelled her into a tight hug the first time she brought him back with her to play.

It hadn't been her place to truly think much on it. Until, during their private celebration of Valaena's name day in their family's solar, Rhaenyra had been struck with a thought. It had arose as she watched the aforementioned pair run about the room, smiling and laughing gently at their antics. Valaena danced about the room with a thickly woven crown of flowers that Aemond had shyly presented to her as his nameday gift to her resting atop the crown of wild pitch and silver curls flowing about her head, the boy following after her with an uncommonly wide grin gracing his face.

Jacaerys had been dozing off on her shoulder as she gazed at the children before her and thought.

Ruminated.

Until an idea began forming in her mind.

Bethrothals between children were not an uncommon occurrence, particularly in House Targaryen. The marriage pacts often stood as collateral for the great noble houses of the realm to forge bonds and secure agreements for trade.

Or to secure claims.

She knew it would be better to consult Laenor before presenting her proposal to her father and his wife. Her husband's reputation as a gentle and complacent man did in fact precede him, but it did little to highlight the brilliance of his mind. There was a reason he had been one of the leading men during the War of the Step Stones, why his father had him as his right hand man during times of voyage. He would be her greatest asset in making her ambitions a reality. 

After all, what better way to protect her daughter and her claim to becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms than betrothing her to the son of the woman who wanted to take her birthright and supplant her rightful place?

Chapter Text

21st day of the 5th Moon, 120 AC

Princess Valaena Velaryon. 

Firstborn daughter and heir apparent to Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her Royal Prince Consort, Ser Laenor Velaryon.

Older sister to Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey Velaryon.

Child of the Stranger.

Aemond’s niece.

His betrothed.

A fact that was still taking some time to get used to.

He may be only ten summers old, but it was not as if he was blind.

It was no secret that there was no love lost between his mother and his eldest sister. The two were frequently at odds, unable to mask any and all resentments they each held for one another long enough for their family to actually have a chance at being one.

So Aemond had felt as though he shouldn’t have been betrothed to his niece on mere principle.

He would have thought that out of anyone in their family, if she hadn’t already been slated to wed his elder brother, his sister Helaena would have been his bride. Or perhaps even one of the daughters of Prince Daemon, his uncle. 

And yet, the marriage contract that had been drawn up, deliberated, negotiated and haggled over? Was one for Valaena to wed him when they reached their respective majorities.

He supposed it could be worse. She was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms after his elder sister, currently being raised to be the next Queen to seat the Iron Throne when it came time for her to rule.

As a second prince, a spare, Aemond knew it was far more than he ever could have hoped for himself.

Not that her status was all he cared for. 

Quite the contrary.

Valaena Velaryon was one of his only friends within the Red Keep, their familial ties notwithstanding. The pair of them had been close companions for years now. Practically attached at the hip whenever propriety and their respective mother’s patience hadn’t worn thin. Aemond had lost count of how many troubles they’d managed to land themselves in over the summers they had spent together, Valaena leading the charge with him racing after.  

No matter how many lectures he received from his mother, how often she chastised him when he attempted to speak up on his dearly beloved friend’s behalf, Aemond continually found himself going back to her.

It was one of the first true acts of rebellion he had drawn enough courage follow through with and keep doing.

The lopsided and sunny smiles that spread across Valaena’s face whenever he fretfully snuck out of his lessons to go on ‘adventures’ with her through the halls of the castle were always a pleasant reward.

Funnily enough, that particular smile was one of the earliest things he could remember about her.

The first time he had ever seen it was when she was one summer old to his three, nearly four. 

Even at such a young age, Aemond was a naturally curious and deeply intelligent child in spite of his more withdrawn demeanor. He often occupied his time with walking about the corridors of the Red Keep, if he wasn’t kept busy by absentminded nursemaids and droning maesters. To lessen the sting he felt when his mother, so focused with handling his elder brother Aegon, was dismissive of his attempts for her attention.

He would have spent time with his sister, Helaena, if not for her penchant of handing whatever insect had captured her fancy that particular day to him unprompted. That isn’t to say Aemond wasn’t fond of her. Regardless of her eccentricities, she was still his sister and was always very loving towards him in her own odd and dreamy way.

More so than Aegon ever was. Or perhaps ever could be.

His fondness for her aside, there was only so many times he could tolerate a spider or centipede being dropped unceremoniously into his lap.

So he wandered about, trying to find something to occupy his time.

He’d already managed to find a fair few of the hidden passageways interspersed within the Keep, the ones made by Maegor the Cruel so many years ago. Had even used one or two to hide from any passing Kingsguard knights and servants that might report his excursions to his mother. 

Queen Alicent was already so hesitant of him leaving her side as it was. Regardless of how much of her focus was on his brother at any given time. There was very little she allowed any of them to do without her blessing or supervision. 

The latter being far more prominent in Aegon’s case, even at that age, but he digressed.

Aemond loved his mother, adored her even. But he did not want this small bit of freedom he’d managed to make for himself to be taken away like so much else. As such, he made regulations for himself. To keep himself from trouble and away from his mother’s fretful ire.

The first was never to go about by himself when Aegon was not being made to do his studies. Their mother insisted upon sitting in with his elder brother, to ensure he was learning the right things. Aemond was more convinced that it was to keep his brother in line than anything else. The older boy had already gone through approximately three maesters that had been personally sent from Oldtown for him by the grace of their grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower.

He still remembered how frustrated Ser Otto had been in regards to that.

The second was to avoid any of the usual paths the Kingsguard would take during their patrols of the halls. Which was harder said than done for him at that age. Clever he may have been, he was still a child. There had been many times that he’d been forced to hastily duck around a corner or sequester himself in one of the hidden nooks about the Keep to avoid being spotted. 

And even then, there were more than a few times where his youthful clumsiness caused him a tumble here and there that nearly caused him to be discovered.

Though he had found that he never had to worry about the gallant Ser Criston Cole revealing his antics to his mother. 

Out of all of the Kingsguard, Aemond liked Ser Criston the best. The man had been the Queen’s personal guard for almost as long as he could remember and had been nothing but a kind companion to him in that time. There was never a time that he was not there, ready with gentle words and warm smiles whenever Aemond was struggling. Nor did the man tell his Queen of what exactly her son was up to when he was not with her, a most generous thing given that he was always the one to find him whenever Aemond failed to keep a low profile.

Ser Criston never scolded Aemond whenever he did, more often than not dropping down to his level to remind him to be careful and giving him a conspiratorial wink and grin before letting him go on his way.

He would never admit it aloud but sometimes, mainly at night when he was tucked away in bed with not another soul to hear his whispers, he wished Ser Criston was his true father. 

The man certainly felt and acted more like one to him than Viserys Targaryen ever had.

That particular truth stung even to this day.

The third and final rule of his daily outings was to never go near the end of the Keep that his eldest sister and her family occupied.

At the time, Aemond had very rarely spent little more than a few hours with or near Rhaenyra. He’d doubted that the woman even truly cared about his existence outside of him being a threat to her own children. 

Well, at least to his knowledge. His mother had been adamant upon it the one and only time he asked. Almost hysterically so. 

He did his best not to question it again for fear of her clutching at him as tightly as she did then.

Regardless of what his mother thought though, Aemond could not help but be entranced by his sister and her family. Much like the rest of the court when the entirety of each of the royal households gathered for the occasional courtly functions. No matter how hard he tried not to, he was unable to keep himself from peeking at them from behind his mother’s skirts. The air of tension and envy that hung around the members of the Targaryen-Velaryon family was palpable, each member regal and beautiful in their own distinct manner. Princess Rhaenyra more often than not would sit regally in a seat that had been provided for her so she could be comfortable holding her son, the young Prince Jacaerys. Her husband, Ser Laenor, stood tall by her side. Always with one hand resting on his wife’s shoulder while he held his daughter, the Princess Valaena, against his side with the other.

They held themselves so proudly, so quietly that one could almost mistake them as nothing more than masterfully painted figures. Standing out starkly amongst the dull courtly rabble in their beauty and grace.

Though Aemond always did his best to stare for as long as he could when he dared, he never could pluck up the nerve to truly look at his niece anytime they were at court. 

Not then at least.

Because of what he ‘knew’, what he had been told.

What had been made plain to him by those whose words he’d been taught to trust above all others

Valaena Velaryon was an oddity, one whose very existence was an “affront” to the gods.

Why else would Ser Criston become uncharacteristically disdainful at the mere mention of the girl, his compassionate demeanor warping into a bitter sneer and his already dark eyes somehow growing abyssal with an emotion Aemond was afraid to comprehend.

Why else would his mother vehemently order him to avoid her. Tell him hushed whispers of how unnatural she was, that her very birth had been an ill omen for the realm and all who called it home. 

What made Aemond believe her words the most, at that age, was just how truly afraid his mother seemed to be. She was practically trembling when she told him of how Valaena had been destined to die, to be taken by the Stranger under the will of the Seven as a rebuke against some unspecified sins of her parents. And yet, somehow, she had been revived. By foul play, a dark spell woven together by her mother and father. Something akin to the Valyrian blood magic that their ancestress, Queen Visenya, dabbled in before her demise.

The fact that she refused to even speak of or even acknowledge the creature that bonded to the girl the day she arose from the dead did little more than cement her words as truth in his mind.

Aemond, for once, did not need to be told.

He knew of the dragon everyone feared.

The Black Beast.

The Stranger Made Flesh.

The Cannibal.

A formerly wild dragon of nearly unimaginable size, somehow larger than Vermithor and rivaling even the likes of Vhagar. One that had bonded with no other rider before the young princess. For all others who dared try in the past were met with nothing but a grisly and painful death that only ended in the beast’s belly.  

That was not even the beginning of how truly dangerous the winged serpent was and could be.

The numerous reports of it consuming it’s own kind was more than enough evidence of that.

So as far as Aemond was concerned, he was content with keeping himself separate from her as often as he possibly could.

So it was a surprise that one day, during one of his latest outings about the Keep, his attention was caught by the sound of a crying child.

The cries had been echoing further down one of the halls where he refused to tread. One that he knew led to the chambers of Rhaenyra and her kin. He had attempted to walk away, to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as he moved to hurry back to his own rooms on the other side of the castle. But he found himself turning back on his heel and making hesitant steps towards the source.

He followed the wails, concerns for a potentially lost or endangered infant outweighing his worries of running into a member of his elder sister’s court. Or his elder sister herself.

Gods he hoped his sister wouldn’t be the one to find him, if anyone did.

But imagine his surprise, when he rounded a corner and came face to face with Valaena Velaryon herself. 

Admittedly, Aemond had imagined his niece to look and be an inherently wretched thing. Particularly when considering how those in his mother’s court would snigger and mock his sister’s children for how they looked, how her firstborn daughter was accursed and her son was a bastard.

Whatever that was. 

And he had never properly laid eyes on her after all so who was to say she wasn’t?

However, taking her in as pudgy little hands reached up to grasp at his sleeve, Aemond felt so foolish for even considering the little girl before him as something to be looked down upon.

For as she looked up at him with a bright gaze that shone with heavy tears in a sun-bronzed face, Valaena Velaryon was a starkly beautiful child. Almost fae-like. What, with black and silver hair hanging loose to her shoulders in tangled and wild curls, mismatched shades of violet and green in her eyes and a gauzy dress of the colour of seafoam floating about her.

He wondered now if it had been the way her face crumbled into a watery smile when he haltingly took her hand in his, or how she crowded up to his side as he slowly led her to where she had lost her way trying to find.

But that was when Aemond realized that Valaena wasn’t some sort of vile creature sent to plague him and his own.

She was a little girl. One who seemed to be just as lonely and vulnerable as him. One that had managed to burrow her way into his heart within moments of him coming to know her. 

It had been Ser Harwin Strong of the City Watch who had found them. The knight was well known to Aemond, almost as much as Ser Criston. After all, he was Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks and had infamously been given the position with the blessing of Prince Daemon Targaryen. Always seen with an easy smile and deceptive calm to his person that belied the fierceness with which he had earned his nickname of ‘Breakbones’.

Now though, the man looked harried and relieved as he rushed towards them. Aemond instinctively put himself in front of the girl, moving to push her behind him when she sprinted toward Ser Harwin with a wail. He scooped the newly weeping Valaena into his arms. Aemond watched the display of emotion in stunned silence, his eyes wide when the man turned to him and gave him a warm, if not slightly wary, smile as well as his thanks for returning the girl to where she belonged. 

Ser Harwin had even personally escorted him back to his family’s side of the Red Keep after it was all said and done, graciously bending the truth of his activities of the day when his mother crowded him into a tight embrace and bid them all farewell while sending a wink Aemond’s way.

When his mother asked him what he had been doing, what he had seen in his wanderings, he considered telling her of what had occurred with Ser Harwin and Valaena. 

But he simply told her that he had gotten lost.

He tried to feel more guilty about it when she pressed a kiss to his forehead in a rare instance of putting him to bed.

From there however, it seemed that Valaena was determined to make him a part of her life whether he liked it or not.

He remembered when she first approached him after the incident, practically sprinting across the throne room floor without a worry or care of the courtiers around them. All so she could present him with a few crumpled wildflowers and a beatific smile. It took everything in him not to turn a flaming red under the sudden scrutiny the whole of the court leveled at the pair when he hesitantly took the blooms from her. 

The weight of his mother’s disbelieving and disappointed gaze was the heaviest to bear.

Even more so when she coldly ordered a servant to destroy them after they returned to their chambers, doing little to dissuade the shame he felt and leaving him in tears when she swept away in a flurry of verdant.

Aemond did his best to avoid Valaena after.

But she refused to let him be.  

When she wasn’t tucked in by her mother or father’s side, kept there whenever they were made to gather, her time was spent trailing after him. Somehow managing to keep up whenever he tried to shake her off to keep his mother pacified. 

 He remembered when his frustration at the situation had boiled over, his ego smarting from an exchange he had with Aegon over Valaena's apparent attachment to him and how it was affecting their mother. Aemond had been unbearably unkind to the younger girl that day. He'd shouted at her in a way he had never shouted at anyone before, pushing and shoving her away when she tried to keep following after him. It got to a point where they even came to blows. Aemond came out of the tussle with a bloody nose and bruised cheeks while Valaena ended up with scratches all over her and scraped knees. The fight had been so fierce that they had to be separated by passing servants and brought before their parents who demanded to be told of what had caused the commotion.

Aemond had prepared himself for Valaena to tell them the truth of what had occurred, or at least try her best to in her youthfully incoherent way. But she remained silent. Simply gazing at him blankly with her two toned eyes growing more and more teary until their respective families grew tired of their silence and went their separate ways.

She didn't return to his side in the days that followed.

Aemond strangely grew to miss her toddling after him, feeling her hand clutch at his doublet. So much so that eventually, a week or so after their explosive altercation, he sought her out himself. Even coming to kneel before her and apologizing for treating her poorly as he tentatively held out a small bouquet of flowers, similar to the ones she had gifted him, in offering.

She gazed at him again as she held her father's hand, having immediately retreated to the man's side when she saw Aemond approach. Though now her eyes were full of wonder and glee, growing brighter when she shyly walked to him and took the flowering bundle from his hands before holding out one of her own to him.

The smile she gave him when he eagerly clasped her hand in response, the one she only ever truly showed to him and her brothers, will forever be ingrained into his memory.

From that point on? The two of them were closer than anything. And by the time Aemond had celebrated his tenth name day, they spent more time on this earth together than they ever had apart.

In that time, Aemond had flourished. He found that he enjoyed himself far more when he was with Valaena, that he smiled more often. More than he could ever really recall himself ever doing. Even his father, infamous for neglecting his children with Queen Alicent, seemed to actually notice Aemond whenever he was with Valaena. Clapping a hand to his shoulder and giving him a warm smile when Aemond begged him to keep telling him tales of Old Valyria after Valaena had dozed off during a late noon luncheon she had called on him to attend. 

He always felt as though he was on top of the world after those days.

There was only one thing that still seemed to evade Aemond's grasp. The one thing he truly desired above all else.

A dragon.

Most, if not all, of the other children in their families had a dragon bonded to them. Aegon had Sunfyre, Jacaerys and Lucerys had Vermax and Arrax respectively. Even Valaena's infant brother, Joffrey Velaryon, had a hatchling. The only other members of their family who didn't have one was Helaena, though she never seemed to be as put out about it as he was, and one of Prince Daemon's twin daughters.

Valaena tried her best to keep him positive, telling him that his time would come. Aemond in turn tried his best not to grow upset with her. To not turn to cutting words and harsh truths as he unintentionally did when he felt slighted. For as tight knit as their friendship was, it had not been without its hiccups. Particularly whenever Valaena's easy and typically cheery temperament was pushed to the breaking point and her rage descended like a typhoon on those involved. Aemond and her brothers had been subject to it enough in the past that they did their best to avoid anything that could potentially trigger it.

It was one of the few things he and her brothers ever agreed on.

But, regardless, Valaena and Aemond always pulled through. Never letting their differing dispositions keep their friendship from running smoothly.

Then the announcement of their betrothal occurred.

It had apparently taken years, a near decade for the contract to be drawn up and agreed upon. To his knowledge, it was mainly arguments and disagreements between his mother and sister that kept it from being finalized and set in stone. That his father had finally had enough and demanded for his wife to give the union her blessing.

She bitterly told him as such the night before it was publically announced.

Things became slightly awkward between Aemond and Valaena as a result. They had only ever seen each other as friends, as kin. So now, being forced to see one another in a new light and having new restrictions placed upon their friendship was a bit jarring to say the least.

Valaena's more frequent visits to her, newly renamed, dragon was a clear sign of such.

Which left him more time to let his mind ruminate and ponder on their current situation.

Though, as a result, Aemond found himself noticing little things about Valaena that he hadn't before. How she chewed the inside of her cheek when she was nervous or frustrated, the way she would trail the feathery end of a quill back and forth over her cheek when deep in thought. How the already vibrant shade of her eyes somehow grew brighter in the noonday sun. Or how his face strangely began to grow hot when he realized how they would light up when she smiled anytime she noticed him looking her way.

He wasn't sure why he took note of those specific things. All he knew was that he had.

And then it had all come to clarity in the early events of the day. Just how he truly felt about the betrothal as a whole.

By extension, his betrothed.

He'd been tearing his way out of the dragonpit, covered in ash and dirt as his cheeks burned with humiliation at his failure to claim Dreamfyre. His attention had been so caught up in his self pity that he did not have the awareness to notice someone rounding the corner of the staircase. Aemond ran into them at full force. The collision sent whoever he had just practically tackled sprawling backwards up the stairs, while he tumbled back down and landed a few steps back behind him.

He sat up slowly with a pained groan, his knees and the palms of his hands stinging as tears finally began to spill down his face. Truly, the gods seemed to be intent upon humbling him today. To punish him for daring to want his birthright as a Targaryen, a Valyrian even. 

All he wanted was to be like the others. He felt like enough of an outsider as it was. Little more than a second son whose own achievements were already being overshadowed by every little thing his brother did. Even his nephews, who he had thought would be sympathetic to that particular plight, seemed to think he was beneath them. Their eagerness to join in Aegon's cruel prank was more than enough evidence of that.

Perhaps that truly was all he was good for. What he was. A winged swine among fiery gods made flesh.

It was only when Aemond heard a soft whimper of pain that he remembered that he had run into someone, his head snapping up and his eyes growing wide as he saw Valaena staggering to her feet.

“Valaena, gods, I-I am so sorry!” He stammered, ignoring the still throbbing ache in his hands and knee to stand to help steady the girl where she stood. Even brushing off the dust that had gotten on the skirt of her white and teal gown. She blinked dizzily, turning to peer up at him in confusion when she realized just who was speaking to her. “Aemond? What are you doing, I thought you were with the others…?” She questioned before pausing and growing silent as she slowly took in his current state. Aemond knew he must look a sight. He hadn’t had a chance to look at himself in a mirror but he knew just how dark the smudges on his pale skin were, how they were everywhere on his person. The realization made his cheeks grow even more ruddy from embarrassment.

 Valaena looked at him for another beat, her two-toned eyes piercing, before she looked away with a sigh. “Aegon again? She asked him quietly, her voice deathly calm as she leant down to pick up a large woven basket that must have fallen from her hands in their collision. Aemond remained silent and looked down at his feet to avoid her gaze. Valaena sighed once more before reaching out to grasp his hand. He silently took hold of hers in return and refused to let go of it as she began to pull him back down the steps, leading him to the Dragonpit.

When they crossed the threshold of the Dragonpit’s entrance, Aemond immediately stiffened and clenched tighter on Valaena’s hand when he heard her take a sharp inhale as she became fully aware of just what laid before them.

The accursed hog was still snuffling about, still wearing the false wings that his brother and hers had attached to it. Completely unaware of the tension the very sight of it had caused to settle between them. Aemond could feel Valaena’s eyes on him, no doubt realizing just what had been done to him. How cruelly he had been treated by those who they called kin. It was enough to make hot tears well up in his eyes yet again, dripping down his face and carving fresh streaks through the soot that coated his flesh like a second skin.  

They stood there in silence for what felt like hours.

Then, Valaena released his hand from hers. Aemond watched tearfully as she strode over to the group of dragon keepers that had gathered to peer curiously at them with a determined and stormy look upon her face. She immediately began speaking with them in hushed tones, too low and quiet for him to make out what was being said. Even with his limited understanding of High Valyrian. The dragon keepers looked over to him more than once as she spoke, some gazing at him with eyes full of pity while others nodded in what he thought to be understanding. Valaena conversed with them a while longer, her barely hidden anger making the typically lilting tones of High Valyrian sharp and brusque. She then handed off the basket in her hands to one of them and gave them a quick bow before turning to make her way back to Aemond’s side, a grimly satisfied gleam in her vibrant eyes.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him past the dragon keepers, the winged swine, not giving them a second glance as they made their way to the takeoff point of the Dragonpit. 

Aemond couldn’t help but wonder what his niece was trying to accomplish, what she had just ordered the dragon keepers to do. Particularly as she kept dragging him along, not stopping to look back or respond when he questioned what she was doing. It wasn’t until they had been trekking along an outside trail that led from the Dragonpit to a secluded riverbank that he got his answer.

Valaena freed his hand from her grasp as they came to a halt by the river’s edge. She gave him a taciturn smile before turning to bring her hands to cup around her mouth, taking a deep breath and letting out a melodic trill that echoed unbelievably loudly throughout the air around them. Aemond stared at her as she did it once more, twice. But before he could gather his wits and enquire what was happening, a deafening roar rang out. He barely had any time to react when the ground beneath his feet shook as if the very earth itself was about to open up beneath his feet, fierce winds beginning to swirl about them both until they grew so strong that he was sent tumbling to the dirt.

It was not until he looked up in fright and saw the gleaming pitch black tail waving about in the air that he realized what had happened.

His niece had called for her dragon.

Arghurys, the Black Beast.

It had only been very recently that Valaena had chosen a name for her bonded dragon. She had spent many years deliberating over what she could choose, what would truly capture the very essence of the eldritch creature she had come to call hers. Aemond himself had been the one to help in that. The pair had been in their studies together, looking over an Old Valyrian codex that had been lent to them by his father when it had caught his eye. 

“Arghurys”, the High Valyrian noun for “hunter”.

Truthfully, what better name for a dragon infamously known for preying on others of his own species. 

Valaena had immediately loved the idea of naming Arghurys as such, wrapping Aemond in a tight embrace before running off to beg her mother and father to take her down to the Dragonpit to bestow her dragon with his new name.

Gazing up at the creature now, full of petrified awe and wonder, he knew that they had chosen aptly.

There was no doubt of just how deadly Arghurys truly was. Even more so if one lived long enough to see past his intimidating size, the numerous fangs housed in his gigantic jaws, the razor sharp claws sprouting from his feet. Spikes of varying sizes lined his impressive wingspan while webbed spines trailed from the crown of his enormous head to the tip of his tail. All covered in inky black scales that made the iridescently fiery green shade of his eyes stand out all the more. 

It was little wonder why people were absolutely terrified of this dragon.

And yet his niece, a mere girl of seven summers, simply ran towards Arghurys and threw her arms about the tip of his snout with a cry of elation and joy. The beast rumbled in response, nuzzling the top of Valaena’s head with a tenderness that left Aemond agape. He had seen dragons be affectionate towards their riders in the past. His brother’s dragon, the radiant Sunfyre, was apparently more friendly than most of his kind, even more so than the mount of their eldest sister. 

But never to this degree, never like this.

Not to the point of where a dragon treated their rider like a…

A hatchling.

Aemond was drawn out of his musings by the sound of someone calling out to them in High Valyrian. He glanced towards Valaena, noting that she was still cooing and running her hands over Arghurys’ pitch coloured scales before turning to look over his shoulder at a pair of dragon keepers making their way over to them. They looked to be carrying something between them. Something that appeared to be taking them a bit of effort to bring their way. Aemond, his mother’s voice lecturing him on chivalry and helping others ringing in his ears, pushed himself up to his feet and tried his best to dust off his clothes as they came closer before moving to hesitantly offer them assistance. 

But, when he reached out to grasp what he now recognised to be a blood soaked sheet, he instantly froze.

There, laying in pieces atop the sheet andcoated in thick and fresh blood, was the very pig that had been the source of his humiliation.

“I asked them to prepare it as a meal. For Arghurys.”

He cried out in alarm, startled by Valaena’s voice suddenly ringing out by his side. The girl simply gave him a bright smile in return as Aemond took in deep breaths to steady himself. “They told me about what Aegon and my brothers had done. What they subjected you to.” She continued, her eyes narrowing at the dragon keepers who bowed their heads ashamedly in return. “How they did nothing to prevent it from happening. So I told them that this was the only way they could remedy what had been done.”

With that, Valaena turned to grasp at one of the pieces of the pig and pulled it from where it rested atop the sheet. She looked back at Aemond, giving him that sunny smile of hers as she held the gorey hunk of flesh toward him. "Come, uncle. This is as much for you as it is for him!" He gazed back at her in surprise. She was doing this for him? But he'd thought... He glanced over to where Arghurys had settled against the ground, the impossibly dark dragon peering at them all with narrowed verdurous eyes. 

His niece followed his gaze curiously, a contemplative look crossing her face before she turned back to the dragon keepers and nodded her head. The men responded in kind before slowly, warily moving toward Arghurys. The dragon reacted very little to their approach. Merely snorting gusts of hot air their way as they placed their burden upon the ground before him. Valaena followed after them, small hand still wrapped around the slab of meat she had picked up. It had grown increasingly bloody in the short time she had held it. To the point where the sanguine ichor had begun to dribble down her fingers to drip to the ground beneath her feet. She seemed to be completely uncaring of the sticky mess it was making on her skin, simply giving a smile to the dragon keepers and bowing her head in thanks as they went to make their leave. Aemond bowed his own head in turn when they eventually came to pass him before slowly making his own way back down to where Valaena stood with her dragon.

Her hands were empty so he could only assume she had already fed him the piece she had carried.

The fresh blood staining Arghurys' teeth all but confirmed it.

Valaena turned her two toned gaze his way, her lips spread in that lopsided grin that set butterflies loose in his belly and her eyes glittered brightly when she held out a dripping, bloody hand towards him. "Come, Aemond! Let me introduce the pair of you properly. You've never been this close to him have you?" Shaking his head in reply, he kept stepping closer until he was standing right beside her. He did his best to keep his trepidation and mounting anxiety hidden, though he was so sure that his trembling hands gave him away instantly, as she grasped his hand in hers and brought it slowly up to rest on one of the scales lining Arghurys' snout. 

Aemond felt as though the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Between the almost scorching heat coming off of the dragon's scales, the constant warmth of Valaena's palm pressing against the back of his hand and the stickiness of the lifeblood coating both their fingers, he himself felt as though he was aflame. Arghurys gazed down at him while his rider gave the beast a soft smile and hushed him when the dragon let a rumble rise up from deep in his chest. "Arghurys, issa jorrāelagon, this is Aemond. My kepa." Valaena stated quietly, her voice tender but firm as she haltingly peeled her hand from Aemond's. He couldn't help but let out a squeak of anxiety when she did, something that somehow seemed to... Amuse the dragon. If the gentle huff of air that ruffled Aemond's hair and the entertained gleam in his verdant green eyes were any indication.

His niece let out a delighted squeal at that, clapping her blood coated hands together and practically bouncing where she stood. "He's never been so tolerant of anyone besides me before!" She cried out at Aemond's questioning stare and let out a peal of silvery giggles when he blanched in response. Valaena turned and hurriedly made her way over to the dismembered hog to grab a few more pieces of it in her arms. He almost called out to her to try and dissuade her, for fear of her getting her lovely gown even more filthy than it already had, but the look of pure excitement and elation on her face had him stopping in his tracks. 

Aemond looked away before she noticed him staring and directed his attention to the carved up leg she was holding out to him. She made an encouraging noise as he took it from her, smiling and snickering lightly when his nose scrunched up at the way the blood clung to his flesh. Valaena turned to Arghurys and clicked her tongue lightly. The dragon let out a low growl in reply, slowly opening his gaping jaw and exposing huge, still bloodstained fangs. Aemond swallowed shallowly before taking a moment to steel his nerve. He took a deep breath one, twice and tossed the leg he held into Arghurys' vast gullet.

He felt a rush of adrenaline course through him as he watched the dragon swallow the leg whole with complete ease and a satisfied hiss. It send shivers down his spine, his fingers tingling where the sanguine fluids had begun to dry on his skin. Aemond felt a hand take his own and turned to meet Valaena's joyful gaze. Her eyes were so unbelievably bright and iridscent in the sunlight, practically glowing as she smiled at him.

Aemond couldn't find the cognizance to do anything more than smile back.   

It only continued from there.

He and Valaena spent the next hour or so, feeding every last piece of the swine to her dragon. The beast relished each bite and preened beneath their attention. Aemond himself had been nuzzled by the big brute in thanks. The show of affection startled a surprised laugh out of him and prompted him to reciprocate in kind, doing his best to wrap his arms around the dragon's snout. Not caring in the slightest that his doublet had been absolutely left drenched by the leftover gore on Arghurys' scales. So much so that by the time they were done, having thrown the last segment of the pig in together, the pair of them looked a state. So thoroughly coated in thick ichor that their clothes simply swayed stiffly in the winds that Arghurys' wings stirred up as he steadily began to beat his wings and take off flying to gods only knows where.

The pair of them stayed there, watching the beast fly off until he was nothing more than a dark speck in the deep blue expanse of the sky. Holding one another's hands tightly as they did. A serene stillness settled over them both in that time, the distant cries of Arghurys' echoing back to them through the breeze. When the world around them fell well and truly quiet, the two turned about and made their way to the river's edge without a sound. There, they slowly began to walk into the flows of the water. Watching quietly as the blood soaking their skin and garments steadily began to seep into the curling currents around them. Eventually, when most if not all of the blood had drained away from them, they made their way back up the riverbank. Still holding one another's hands.

Aemond slowly released his grip on Valaena after a beat, walking to one of the grassy patches strewn along the river and settling down on the turf in silence. She in turn stepped to stand beside him, her gaze curious as she watched him start to reach down and rip up handfuls of the greenery beneath him.

The hush stayed over the both of them for a while longer, before Aemond paused in his ministrations to gaze up at her pleadingly.

"Do you think I will ever have a dragon?"

Valaena stared at him in response, her eyes growing wide at his query. Quiet fell over them once more. Resting so long over them that Aemond began to fidget beneath her attention, looking away in embarrassment. If even she didn't believe he could have one, that he would ever be worthy to have a dragon mount, what hope did he have? Really?

It wasn't until he felt her hand press to his cheek, pressing still bloody fingertipes to his damp face, that he dared to look up and meet her eyes again.

His niece had come to kneel on the ground before him. Uncaring of the dirt clinging to the skirt of her gown as she reached out to press the fingers of her other ichor wet hand to his chest. Right over where his heart was steadily beating. The blood of the pig immediately stained the soaked white fabric of his wet undershirt, spreading and blooming like gorey blossoms across his skin. He gazed up at her in question, taking in the abruptly solemn and insistent look in her glittering eyes.

"You will be a dragon rider, kepa." She said, her little voice a mere whisper yet somehow echoing so loudly in his ears. So sure and steadfast that Aemond felt something begin to burn within him. His heart slowly grew louder and louder, drumming out a heavy beat. One that seemed to be resonating in the very core of his being. As though he was being called homeward. The blood tingled on his skin as he reached up to clutch desperately at Valaena's hand, so small and yet so strong within the cradle of his own.

Tears began to pool in his eyes when she continued to speak, her words drifting up and into the breeze as she slowly leaned in to press her forehead to his. Pressing more bloody fingerprints along his cheek, every mark made sparking against his flesh like those littering his chest. "You will be bonded with a dragon. One who is worthy of you , that can bear the strength needed to carry you to wherever your path will lead. And we will ride together on dragonback, Aemond. Like the dragonlords of Old Valyria. Never doubt that for a moment." 

Her confident words and affirmations were what broke the dam, every hurtful word and insult he ever received for being dragonless being washed away with his tears and her warm embrace. 

It had grown dark by the time anybody had come to look for them, the dragon keepers finding them still curled up in each other's arms and dripping wet. Both their mothers had been appalled at the state of them and immediately began to throw about wild enquiries on what had occurred, Aemond's mother in particular growing hysterical when she realised they had been covered in blood. It was not until Valaena spoke up on  his behalf and specified just what the source of the blood had been that the attention shifted from the two of them to their respective siblings.

Aemond realized then, as Valaena gave him a conspiratorial wink with that lopsided smile in response to the one he sent her way, that perhaps marrying her in the future would not be such a bad thing.

That perhaps, as she had said, they would ride together on dragonback. 

Just like the dragonlords of old.

Chapter Text

hey there guys!

so sorry for being MIA for so long, i've been having a bit of a rest because i got hit with a case of, what we believe to have been at least, bronchitis. i did try my best to write while i was sick but i just wasn't vibing with whatever i came up with so the next chapter may be a little while yet. that being said, i am currently getting back into the swing of things and working to get it posted asap and i do apologise that the wait has been so long compared to my usual posting schedule.

what this is actually about though, is that i just wanted to announce that i have made a tumblr specifically for this account! that way i can post snippets of chapters to come to keep you guys in the loop and help fill the gaps between postings. plus i can also post some of my own art for specific characters, specific playlists i have made to help me get into character headspaces etc. as i write as well as do requests for other fandoms i'm interested in.

the tumblr handle is: irl-selkies-kelp-forest if you guys were keen!

can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter!

irl_selkie