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Chapter Text

"Father," Rhaenyra interrupted, voice calm but lilac eyes alight in dragon fire, "why is there a whore in my mothers bed not even a day after her death bringing your son into the world?"

Both Viserys and Alicent froze for a moment at the words, before a flurry of movement occurred in the Royal bed. Alicent, clearly nude, covered herself with a sheet, one that clung to her due to the amount of bodily fluids on her. The dress on the floor, one of Alicent's late mothers if she was correct, told Rhaenyra all she needed to know about the events unfolding before her.

Her father, flushed and clearly having just completed, could not meet her eyes. Good, she thought viciously, Wyrm King. Waste of a Dragon's Blood.

"Rhaenyra, my dear, it is not what you-"

Rhaenyra cut her fathers words off with a vicious glare. "It is not what a think? Let me tell you what I think, then, father. I think I see my only Lady in Waiting, a pios lady not two summers older than I, in your bed. I see a disgrace of a whore, and a treasonous one at that, who coupled in her Mistresses parents bed before my mothers blood is even dried. I see you, with your whore, who has disgraced me by taking one of my household into your bed. Your bed. The bed of my dear mother, who we burned yesterday. Oh, I see plenty, father, and never have I been more disgusted."

"Princess!" The Whore pleaded, "please!"

Rhaenyra turned her gaze on the whore, the girl who had been her sole companion for years, her friend, now sullied by her own father. "I have no words to give a Whore, except that you, Alicent Hightower are officially dismissed from my service. Were you bedding anyone else, I would have you sent to the Silent Sisters, but, alas, I can no longer command that. Instead, I will say that your... services to the Crown have been noted, and your belongings will be delivered to the Whore's quarters before morning."

She ignored the crowd who gathered behind her and walked back to her rooms, each step carefully calm instead of fiery. She pushed back her rage, her loathing, as she moved quickly through Maegors Holdfast.

Despite what she led people to believe, the Realm's delight was not a stupid child. Oh, she played one perfectly, but underneath the lace and silk was still a Dragon waiting to be unleashed and tested in Flames. Her act had been so effective because she honestly never wanted the Throne. She never wanted to be the heiress. If her parents had successfully brought a son into the world, she would have been thrilled! She had refused to play the Game of Thrones for so long, but now, suddenly, all of that was now gone.

Rhaenyra sat gracefully on her bed, she didn't have a choice anymore. She had to play if she wanted to live.

Because her father would marry the whore. He had no choice after publicly being caught deflowering the girl. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. Viserys was King, he could absolutely abandon the whore to the streets. But he wouldn't because fucking Otto Cuntower, the Hand, would whisper poison in the ear of the King.

Through the whore, Viserys could gain the sons he so craved.

The utter humiliation of her fathers actions made the girl shiver.

She was only four and ten, but she would need to marry before the whore and her father if she wanted her mothers blood on the throne. Her options weren't as numerous as she had once hoped, not with the amount of political discourse her father was bringing in by choosing a queen who had nothing.

Stark, Lannister, Velaryon.

Maybe Strong.

Stark would be useful to the kingdom by further connecting the North to the Kingdom. They had an access of Steel and Furs to trade as well, which were always useful to have. The Stark in question would have to be Rickon, the future Lord of Winterfell who was but a few months older than her. He was known to be a quiet man, a knight, who had the viciousness of a wolf against his enemies. But Winterfell was unstable.

Lannister, most likely Jason, she thought with a grimace, was a rich house. Powerful and plentiful enough that should they rise up, her family could struggle. More than that though, they were just as power hungry as the House of Hightower, but Jason Lannister could be so very cruel. Though, admittedly, no one could say the man wasn't intelligent. While he wouldn't be thrilled to kneel, he would be happy to have his bloodline intertwine with her own.

She much preferred the company of Ser Tyland, Lord Jason's younger twin, but, alas, she would never be permitted to marry a second son. Even if he did have his own title and land.

Laenor Valeryon would financially be the best choice. His family was hers, and the Valeryon's had the largest Fleets in the kingdom. But... she knew his tastes well. She had personally caught him and his fellow squire in a position not dissimilar to the one her father was just in. Rumors of his tastes had reached the Red Keep dozens of times over, and thus, any heirs she had with him would always have their legitimacy questioned. Assuming he could give her heirs in the first place.

Finally, there was House Strong.

Truthfully, the inclusion of Ser Harwin onto her short list of potential husband was due exclusively to her petty nature. She remembered how the whore had swooned over the man at the tournament just yesterday. She had seen how the then Lady Alicent had blushed and averted her eyes when the man looked her way, the beginnings of feelings she had teased the traitor with obvious.

The only reason she wanted Ser Harwin was because Alicent did.

Politically, he offered no great riches, no great armies, his house was stable and loyal, but not overwhelmingly so. Though he was the Heir of Lord Lyonal Stark, he was easy to overlook. Oh, the man was dangerous, but in a different way than the rest on her list. She wanted him purely for her own benefit.

But her opinion could not matter any longer. Maybe if she hadn't found the Whore in her fathers bed, she could pursue Breakbones. But then again, if she hadn't, then she wouldn't have even considered the man.

Shivers raked her body, making her feel freezing cold somewhere deep inside her chest as she realized who she would choose.

Choose.

What a funny little word. Oh, she had the appearance of choice, certainly, but unless she wanted a kingdom of Ashes in her future, there was only one choice.

She could not marry Laenor and have her future children questioned. No matter how much Corlys and Rhaenys complained about a so called slight, she would not take the chance that Laenor could not do his duty and give her heirs.

She could not marry Rickon, as he was caught in a dispute about his status as Lord Benjens heir. The young man was far too busy up in Winterfell to be a proper support in the Red Keep. Their entire family was stabilizing, but not enough to pull him into the Game.

She could not marry Harwin Strong out of spite. The man seemed nice enough, and while she would love rubbing the Whore's face in that kind of marriage, Ser Harwin deserved better.

That left one name, the one she liked the least.

She would marry Jason Lannister. Quickly. She would rebuild her household, including a Stark, Alys Strong, and Laena Velaryon. To ease the sting of Lord Corlys' son not being her husband, she would make Lady Laena her Chief Lady in Waiting. Maybe she would even bring Ser Harwin into her personal guard. Away from Alicent.

Hopefully, that would keep the Keep from falling on her head. No, she told herself firmly as the voices of her people filled her ears, it would be enough. She would keep their House, and their Throne for her heirs and their heirs.

Damn Viserys and his whore.

Chapter Text

There was something to be said about Maegor's rule. No matter how hated he was after his death, the King had done a lot to ensure that their family lived on.

The worst part was that Rhaenyra could see sense in his decisions. Well, most of them. Marrying so many wives was odd, especially since one was a Hightower. But the kingdom needed a dangerous Dragon King after having a more peaceful, yet weak one.

It was Maegor, after all, who stopped wars just by name alone. He was so feared that his name still caused terror among those who dared to rise up against him. Well, those who lived anyways. He had created the Holdfast and the passageways to keep them safe. The man believed firmly in Fire and Blood, which he was soon hated for.

She'd always heard comparisons between Daemon and Maegor, but she never understood them. Her uncle was the King's Sword, to be sure, but he wasn't nearly as politically savvy as Maegor. Oh, he was a deterrent, to be sure, but he clearly loved his brother and would do anything to keep him on the throne.

Maegor, on the other hand, also had a useless brother. Aenys, from their records, was an idiot, weak and spineless, the man was not fit to be king. Instead of doing nothing and hoping for the best, Maegor saved his family. Rebels rose and the kingdom their parents worked so hard to unite was in danger. If Maegor had left Aenys as the King, their family would have fallen within a single generation.

Thanks to Maegor, Westeros knew exactly how dangerous a Targaryen could be. He proved that it wasn't just their parents who were worthy of the Iron Throne, but their bloodline.

She may not be a direct descendant of the man, but his tale had always resonated with Rhaenyra more than the others. The tale of a king, the one clearly suited to ruling over Aenys, and the wrath of the Dragons.

Which is why she was so confused by people comparing Daemon to Maegor. One let his wyrm of a brother stay on the throne and the other made sure that their kingdom would continue on. She wondered what Aegon and Maegor would have thought about Jaehaerys and Viserys. Two spineless men, one so focused on selling off his children that they had to better their claims on the land, and another who was content spending his time hiding away while he built his model. At least, she acknowledged, Jaehaerys got things done. She could respect that he tried, and had done well in peace times. Even if he had given into the ridiculous faith publicly instead of wiping it out.

But they weren't in peace times any more. Things were changing as the kingdom and its King hoped so desperately for a son that Aemma gave until she could not. Of her mothers eleven pregnancies, she was the only one who made it past her first year of life.

Rhaenyra. Jaehaerys. Viserys. Vaegon. Alyssa. Gaelon. Aenys. Gaemon. Aemmon. Alysanne. Baelon.

Eight sons, all dead within a moon at most and three daughters, two whom passed within a week. All alive and thriving until the very last minute. Something, supernatural or otherwise, had been interfering with those children. Otherwise, Viserys II would have been her fathers heir from the beginning. But no, each pregnancy destroyed her mother a bit more at a time.

She had been ten when she understood the names her mother muttered every day. As each babe passed, the list grew longer and longer. Since her father was replacing her mother already, it was up to her to keep that list in her memory forever. She would never forget her little brothers and sisters.

Her hopes of a future full of adventures, coming back to the Red Keep only occasionally as she watched her little brother grow from a distance were gone. Her hopes of being an adventurer were dashed. Her hopes of exploring Old Valyria with her Syrax had been destroyed.

She had enemies everywhere. She could trust no one ever again. It was at that moment, she hardened her heart. Her father was a fool. Her mother was dead. Her cousin apparently wished for Rhaenyra and Laenor to wed, as if that wouldn't shred her reputation.

And her uncle?

Her beloved uncle Daemon had taken to the skies after "deflowering" the young princess and leaving her used and discarded. Her father and uncle had gotten into a fight, because her uncle claimed the rumors were true, when Viserys knew they were false.

How she could have been with Daemon in a Pleasure House while walking in on her father and his whore was a question she couldn't answer. She also wasn't entirely certain why Daemon was trying to ruin her, but frankly, she had enough enemies in the Red Keep already.

Perhaps, she thought darkly, he was once again trying to save Viserys by sacrificing her. Maegor Come Again her ass.

The conflicting rumors had flooded the Keep, some calling her a whore, some saying she saw the Whore. She knew the Hightower's were leaning hard into the rumors, but the Small Court all knew the truth. Her father had announced his marriage to the Whore in two moons just an hour ago.

Which meant she needed to be married before then.

Thankfully, the mourning period meant that Rhaenyra wouldn't be expected to have a large ceremony, so she could get it over with. With some luck, she might even manage to become pregnant first too. It was a race, between her and the Whore to see which of them could produce a babe with a cock first.

...hm, she could do something about that, now couldn't she?

Later, she promised herself, running a hand down her black gown as she knocked on the door to her doom. That was something for later.

Moments after the sound, the doors opened. It was time.

"Princess!" Lord Jason exclaimed, opening the door wider for her to enter while he nodded at her guard.

"Lord Jason. Ser Tyland. I apologize for the intrusion. There are matters that must be discussed between House Lannister and House Targaryen. When would be a good time for us to confer?" She asked. Under normal circumstances, those around her would be expected to bend their schedules to suit her needs, but in this case, humility would be her friend. Possibly.

Frankly, the only people in the realm who could demand the time from these men were her and her father, as the Heir Apparent and King. If anyone else had tried, they would have been laughed out of the Keep.

The twins exchanged looks, but beckoned her farther inside their apartment.

Truly, she mused, they were identical in looks. Both men were tall, broad in shoulder, with curly, golden blonde hair and light green eyes. While Lord Jason had never truly been a Knight or Squire, he was known to practice with Ser Tyland several times a week, leading to both men being well built.

Lord Jason pulled a chair out for her, waiting until she had sat before moving to his own seat across the round table. Alone, both men seemed dangerous in different ways, but together? Together they were truly the Lions their house was represented by.

"What can your loyal servants do for her highness?" Lord Jason asked, leaning forward slightly as he met her eyes. He was definitely the more outgoing of the brothers, but that just meant that Ser Tyland could come up behind their enemies and strike.

Rhaenyra folded her hands, and placed them in her lap, looking down to gather her strength, before meeting those hypnotic green eyes. "It is a, hm, delicate matter. I take it you both have heard the rumors circulating the Keep today?"

The men exchanged looks, one dark, one curious, before nodding and turning back to her. "Indeed, princess. But what does that have to do with House Lannister?"

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, bringing one hand up to massage her temple. "May I speak plainly, my lords?"

They both nodded.

"I am in a predicament, my lords, and any guidance you could give on the matter would be appreciated." She steeled her nerves. "To put it bluntly: I have been disgraced. My lady in waiting sullied herself in my mothers bed. My father took the one person he knew I was close to into his bed. My uncle, in order to protect the king I believe, has said that I went into his bed. I am surrounded by traitor."

She took a breath. "If my father's whore had been anyone other than the daughter of Otto Hightower, then I would not be here. They will wed. My fathers Whore will bare him... sons. While, admittedly, I have very little interest in playing the Game of Thones, I do have an interest in living. Which leads to my issue: I am unwed, and the Crown Princess until my father's next child is born. This means I have no protection, except for what Dragonstone can offer until I am either of age or removed from my place in line. Even there, the people are loyal to those not loyal to me. I admit, I have considered leaving Westeros behind, but even that would be useless. My uncle has spies everywhere. All it would take is a single whisper and I would meet my end. If I am lucky."

The Lannister twins seemed surprised, and hesitant. This time, it was Ser Tyland who spoke. "So what do you propose, Princess? I see no way out for you that involves us, unless..."

"I am proposing a marriage between my House and yours within the month." This was her path to take. Grief could wait, betrayal could wait, but this could not. She had to secure her own future if no one else would.

"You are young, Princess." Lord Jason said slowly. "You have time to make your move. There is no rush."

She was young, but not the youngest of her blood to marry. While she, secretly, wasn't particularly thrilled at the fact that her future husband was a decade her senior, the twins were twenty and four she believed, it wasn't enough to be repulsive. Not for a Targaryen.

She hardened her gaze. "I am four and ten, my Lord. I am old enough to wed. My father promised it would be my choice, and I refuse to let him change his mind by waiting longer than I must. I do not have time, the King's mistress could already be with child, and if she is, then I need to secure my own future. Thankfully, my father did one thing for me that will help: Dragonstone and its lands are mine. No matter how many children he has, that will not change. I will not go into this with no dowry. Upon my mothers death, her fortune became my own, and I will be splitting from my father's household today, with or without a betrothal."

"So you must marry a second son, preferably a titled one." Lord Jason glanced at his brother, fingers tapping against the table as he thought.

Ser Tyland nodded in agreement, before taking in her confusion. "If you were to marry a lord, a longer engagement and larger ceremony would be expected. Even if you were in the mourning period for your mother. If you wish to marry quickly, then it must be from a house with a high standing, and it must be a second son."

She hadn't thought of that. It was an excellent point though. The higher the station, the bigger the weddings usually were. Two months was the shortest period the king could possibly wait in order for the wedding to be a grand affair. Her parents engagement was closer to eight months.

"You are aware that this will cause rumors, princess." Lord Jason warned, "that you are marrying so quickly as if you have something to hide. The rumors your uncle is spreading will not help your claim."

She knew that. But she also knew that if Alicent announced a pregnancy before Rhaenyra married, her life could be in danger. The princess inclined her head. "I have spies of my own who will spread the rumors I want. That I married for love. It will be said that I, in my grief, requested of my secret beloved, who I had been courting privately, to marry quickly. That I needed the comfort of a man who I would call husband. I can play the lovestruck fool well. I have already started, by coming here now. Several servants and nobles have seen me here. I have spent my life playing the airheaded princess, playing in love will be simple."

"You would need children, princess." Tyland muttered awkwardly, "several in fact to secure your claim. You are well known for fearing the birthing bed."

"I will do my duty. So long as my firstborn son is my heir, and I keep my name, then I will do what needs to be done." While she was terrified, she also knew this was yet another battle she had to face. Her not wanting to had no bearings on the facts. But, there was... one thing she should warn her possible future husband and good brother about. "Anyone who weds into my family must be aware that their lives are not safe. I'm sure you deal with your share of assassins, but you should be aware that my bloodline is dangerous, and a curse to those who try to overreach. However, my children will be Dragonriders as long as they have my name. They will have the Targaryen bloodline, the blood of the dragons, running through their veins. I am aware that you and yours are of Andal through your father, and of First Men through your mother, and my traditions are displeasing to you, but for the throne, and our safety, I must adhere to them."

"What kind of traditions?" Tyland asked curiously.

"They will speak High Valyrian. At birth, each will be given a dragon egg in their cradles. If it does not hatch, then they will have a chance to claim a dragon or hatchling. My heir must follow the traditions of the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria to keep our blood strong, but the rest of the children do not. It is possible that my daughters will marry my sons, and will want no others. We must keep the blood strong, for if it weakens, we will loose our dragons. A Targaryen always prefers another Targaryen above all else when they are available. They will be drawn to the flames. I am not sure how much my blood will dilute with new blood, but as long as our children and grandchildren inter marry, then all should theoretically be fine." She listed easily. This could be a deal breaker, especially the things about her heir since she knew they publicly followed the Seven, but her dynasty was at stake. Nothing could be muddled if she wanted this to work.

Ser Lannister, as it seemed he would be the one chained to her, needed to understand that she wasn't just a princess, she was a Dragon. Which meant some good and some bad would come.

"So our children would be, what, Lannister- Targaryen?" Tyland questioned.

She shook her head. "Our first must be a Targaryen, of both male and female will marry. They will either be the future Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, or, if my father so chooses, they could be the future King and Queen, in which the second born male will take on the Dragonstone title. The others, unless your brother chooses one as his heir, may be either Targaryen- Lannister or Lannister- Targaryen. To me, it matters not."

Tyland looked suspicious at that. "Why would the king pick our child instead of his own? Should the crown not go to his firstborn son?"

"King Jaehaerys chose his grandson, our current King, over any of his remaining children." She reminded them, "my claim is the strongest, since I am the only child of the first Queen, and a full blooded Targaryen. It depends on my father and how much he wants to destroy my bloodline. If the realm does not want a Queen, then so be it, but I will not wait around for my doom."

She didn't necessarily need to be Queen of the Realm. Despite being the King's only child, she had not been raised to rule. But she would get her blood on the Throne, where they would be safe, no matter the cost.

After all, the blood of the Dragon was magic.

It didn't take much longer for an agreement to be reached between the three of them. Tyland would be her husband in a week, and they would relocate to Dragonstone in order to build their houses. Lord Jason did mention that he wouldn't mind taking one of their children as his own heir as long as they took his name, just as he had mentioned reaching out to her aunt about the Eyrie. Apparently, Lady Jeyne might be interested in fostering one of her children since she had none of her own.

They would make this work.

She left them once their agreement had been set to continue her plan.

Soon, Syrax and her rider were gone as they both had better places to be than the soon to be Green Keep.

Chapter Text

People forgot what the Blood of the Dragon was truly capable of, and in this case, at least, she was grateful. No one would know just how she took her revenge. Well, besides her conversation with the Septons this morning about her ex lady and her... lack of purity. But that was just a small petty thing, a candied lemon on top of a cake.

After all, she knew just how important the Faith was to the King's whore. There was nothing that the whore loved more than those damned Seven. Not that the faith would have anything to do with the whore anymore.

No, no. Her real revenge was one that only she could truly take. Through her blood lived the magic of Old Valyria. Her magic, while not obvious like Visenya's, was much more suited to... other things.

Curses to be precise.

There were many, many curses she could have placed on Alicent, but she wanted something... particularly poetic. Her soon to be stepmother would have all the sons she wanted, no daughters, but there was a catch. None of them would have the appearance of a Targaryen, they would all look like Andal bastards. In fact, no Hightower would ever be able to have Targaryen looking sons. It was sweet.

How delicious was the thought of her once beloved and pios Alicent bringing brats who seemed like bastards to court?

Best of all, not a single one would be able to claim or hatch a dragon. Her ritual would remove their Targaryen bloodline gifts, leaving behind only possible curses. If they so much as touched an egg, they would be burnt. Just like any other Andal who tried.

And to think, all this particular curse took was the guarantee that the whore would only have the sons she wanted. If she wanted to be the one to birth the supposed heir to the throne, then she could have fun. The whore could give birth until she died and not one of them would be a Targaryen.

It would be interesting to see if that magic had worked.

How many sons would the Whore have before she figured out her bloodline was cursed? Two? Ten? Would she be able to have as many as Rhaenyra's great-grandmother? Maybe. Maybe not. She wondered if her father would gut this one too. After all, if the Whore wanted to replace the Queen so badly, then she could have her fate as well.

Rhaenyra had spent a single day agonizing over which curse she wanted to use from Rhaenys Diary, the woman was a powerful sorceress of blood magic, and far more of a scholar than Rhaenyra, but this one felt fitting. That didn't mean she wasn't tempted to make the Whore have only daughters, or to have her children be deformed

Poor Alicent and her bastards would be the talk of the court.

Oh well.

She also took the time to curse the Hightower family line. None of them would ever again have a single son, excluding Alicent. Any man who bore the name Hightower would only ever have daughter until, eventually, the line would vanish as a whole. That included those given the name later, and those born from Hightower blood. None of Alicent's children would ever be able to have sons of their own.

That particular curse took a blood sacrifice, royal blood from her, to accomplish. As with her other curse, she was extremely curious as to how quickly the effects would be noticed.

As for Otto himself...

Well, since he wanted to see his blood on the throne so badly, then she would ensure he never saw again. Within a moon, he would come down with a fever and a headache that, when he awoke from it, would take his vision permanently.

That particular curse took another day to create and exhausted her badly enough that even four days later, she was still tired. Too much magic, she supposed. She didn't regret it though. That power, watching the flames raise as she chanted, dripping her blood into the fire as sacrifice... it was intoxicating. She loved it.

Now though, she was ready to return to King's Landing. She had her week of crying, angry, and later. Trying to sleep off the worst of the curses costs. It was time for her to appear in court as the Heiress to the Throne.

She had dressed herself in new riding leathers, these were pure black, with black scale like plating from neck to foot outlined in Arryn Blue. A few minutes before, she had stopped to rebraid her hair and put on a matching black tiara made of Valyrian Steel that was embedded with sapphires and opal.

Syrax knew to go slowly, and had played her part expertly, landing in the courtyard to let her rider down directly in front of the Keep. Typically, they landed in the Dragonpit, but no more. These people would know her Golden Lady could not be restrained any longer. Neither would her rider.

Rhaenyra dismounted gracefully in a single movement, one she had done thousands of times. The moment her boot covered feet hit the ground, she bowed to her beloved lady, who reciprocated with a bow of her own neck, before the dragon flew off with a roar.

Her entrance, as expected, caused quite the stir. The people were expecting to see their pastel loving little princess, but instead, they got her. A woman about grown who would be married in a few hours. Not that anyone knew. The only people who were warned of the wedding, if her soon to be husband did his job, was the Lannisters themselves and a Septon to marry them.

She couldn't afford to be a child any longer, she had to think about her future and that meant growing up. It meant not being able to run to her parents when things went wrong. It meant giving up her childish ideas of love.

Rhaenyra was forced to face the truth: people did not love her. No one, except her Golden Lady ever would, and that was only because their souls had been tied together since her birth. She was unlovable. But that did not mean she could cry about it or change anything. No, she had things to do, a dress to change into, and a man she didn't particularly like, let alone love, to marry.

Duty before happiness.

With that in mind, she made her way to her rooms, putting on a sleek gold and white gown made of satin and silk. She had commissioned it before she spoke to the Lannisters, knowing that she would need a wedding dress of some kind. After the wedding, she would continue wearing exclusively black, but for now, she had to at least pretend to be happy about her choice.

They got married under the Godswood, instead of a Sept, with only the Septon, her new good brother, and a few other Lannisters as her witnesses. It was nice, a mix of traditions for them both. Ser Tyland looked rather appealing too, in his golden clothing with red embroidery on his back. His honey blonde hair was tamed, slicked back so that his cunning green eyes were on display.

On a purely aesthetic level, he made for an eye catching groom. He watched her possessively, and she made sure her own expression was happy, relaxed, and oh so in love. Every moment their eyes met, she would duck her head and blush, like the silly lovestruck idiot she pretended to be. It was so odd playing this role, but something about just how fake it was made it all the more amusing for her.

"Are you certain, little princess?" Tyland muttered softly, careful not to draw too much attention. She smiled prettily at him, nodding ever so slightly.

While she appreciated the chance, she had already invested too much in this. Her reputation was now, and would forever be, tied to his. All week her spies had gossiped with everyone from the ladies in the court to the small folk. Everyone knew the love story of the suddenly shy princess and the man who stole her heart with private walks around the Godswood. Everyone had heard about the knight who wooed the princess slowly. Everyone knew that she had, after the devastating mess, begged her beloved and his lord to allow them to marry. It hadn't taken long for the gossip ring to do what it did best, embellishing the story until no one was surprised to see the young couple under the shade of the Godswood dressed in modest wedding clothes.

She looked every bit the blushing bride, lovestruck in a word, while he looked like the dashing prince coming to sweep her off her feet. None of it was true, except her meeting with Lord and Ser Lannister, but that didn't matter. Of course, reality never mattered, only perception did.

"Princess, repeat after me: I, Rhaenyra Targaryen take you, Tyland Lannister, as my lawful husband through this life and the next."

She did as she was told, repeating the words that she never thought she would say with anyone other than Daemon. Then again, those had been dreams of stupidity, of girlhood before that nightmare began.

This had to work. This marriage had to protect her.

By the time her father heard, it was too late as they had already been announced as husband and wife.

Her husband kissed her in front of the King, his guard, and everyone else who had stopped to see what the commotion was. It hadn't been the first kiss she hoped for, but it would do. Though the king's heartbroken look as he realized his only child had not even bothered to tell him she was getting married was satisfying.

Tyland had her in a possessive grip, keeping her close to his side as he grinned brightly down at her. She smiled back, only her eyes showed the viciousness her old house was known for. He stroked her cheek with calloused fingers, feather light against her skin. "I love you, little wife."

His words were loud enough to be heard by the rapidly approaching party, but not so loud that it was obvious they were for the kings benefit.

She tilted her head, leaning into his hand and brushing her lips across his finger, watching as his light green eyes darkened. "You are my choice. No one could ever measure up to what I feel by your side. Every day without being next to you was anguish."

For a moment, she had to duck her head and turn away, as if she was blushing. The self disgust was difficult to bare. Here she was, the pretty little wife of a knight to be used as a broodmare. She did it to herself, sold herself off just to keep herself safe. She wanted nothing more than to snap, killing the king and his hand for making her put herself in such a position.

But, she forced the feeling down and continued making moon eyes at her husband. This was her path now. She chose this and while it had never been what she wanted, it was her life now.

"What did you do?" A voice asked heartbroken, "Rhaenyra, by the gods child, what did you do?"

She turned in Ser Tyland's arms, facing her father. "I married the man I love, your grace, the only one who has been there for me through my losses. I married my knight, who will protect and choose me without fail. I would think, your grace, that you would be thrilled by this. You have been bringing up my marriage for years, after all, and this not only benefits the kingdom, but me as well."

The king looked like she had just stabbed him. "But, why now? Why not marry as the crown princess in a ceremony fitting of your status? Why a second son?"

She forced the sneer down deeper, instead pasting a curious, yet innocent expression on her face. "Do you have a problem with second sons all of the sudden? After all, your own consort to be is the daughter of one. But to answer your question, we are in a mourning period, in case you have forgotten with all of the excitement the last week or so. It would be incredibly shameful for me to plan a big wedding so soon after my mother died. However, I wanted my beloved as my husband, and we did not want to wait any longer. Perhaps we will have a proper ceremony and celebration in a year or two, but for now, I need the comforts of being the wife to my husband."

With that, she grabbed her husband's hand, and pulled him gently towards Jason and the rest of her new family. Perhaps the king never respected her, so she would show him only what was required by the court. There would be no warmth for the king from the Crown Princess.

They spent the afternoon mingling, playing their parts, before they retired to the Princesses old chambers for the last time. As a married woman, they were no longer appropriate, but they would do for tonight.

The moment they were finally alone, the newly married, newly adult woman almost collapsed by her door. She let herself shed the masks that had been protecting her all day. Her face hurt from the smiles, but that was something she could ignore.

Alas, she wasn't done yet. There was one last thing she had to do in order for their union to be unbreakable. The one part she was looking forward to the least: consummation.

No more words were exchanged as her husband brought her to bed. They simply weren't needed. She had a duty as a wife, and she would not let herself shy away from it.

---

When Tyland took her to bed the first time, it hurt. She bled and felt nothing but discomfort, but stayed silent. She hadn't been ready, per say, but she refused to wait. It was her duty as a wife.

During the day, the two played up their relationship, whispering to each other, disappearing into their rooms constantly, kissing and getting caught doing so. They touched frequently, and if she didn't know better, she would think that he was actually falling in love. Of course, she did know better.

They spent as much time together as a newly married couple with ties to the court could, but they also made time to annoy Otto with their games. Rhaenyra had spies, people who followed the Hand during the day, and, when they were near each other, Tyland and Rhaenyra would... preform.

Every time the Cuntower laid eyes on her, she was either embracing her new husband or he was holding her. While they had been 'caught' in more than a few kisses, these softer looking moments made Otto rage. They were making bets about just how purple the Hand could become before he expired.

The funniest part, to her at least, was learning that Ser Tyland loved poetry. In public, he happily recited poetry to her while they were picnicking two days after their impromptu wedding. He seemed to recite an entire book of poems to her, ignoring their audience.

Of course, when they got back to the Lannisters shared apartments, Lord Jason laughed at him. He claimed that he should have warned Rhaenyra about the fact that Tyland was quite the scholar. In response, Ser Tyland smacked him in the face with a chair cushion.

It really was interesting to see how their relationship was in private. The twins seemed so proper in public, but when they forgot she was there, they bickered and played like lion cubs. She felt humbled to see it, even if it was harder to keep a smile once night fell.

She did her duty, without complaint, but she had gone silent as the reality of her decision crashed down on her. For two weeks, she played lovestruck in public and meek in private, only letting herself feel while she was on Syrax.

As much as she wanted to go to Dragonstone, they didn't have a good enough reason to pack up her household just yet. They needed to wait until she was pregnant so that their excuse of not being around as often would make sense. It made sense, after all, for her heir to be born where their family had originally settled.

It took two weeks, two weeks of silent suffering in her wedding bed, before the twins finally broke and cornered her.

"We need to talk." Tyland told her seriously, holding an arm out to block her from leaving their apartments. Jason, by his side, nodded and ushered her in to the solar.

The three of them took their seats, the twins on one side with her on the other. She folded her hands gracefully in her lap. "Have I done something displeasing husband? Good brother?"

Tyland leaned forward in his own seat, meeting her eyes. "Rhaenyra, you are my wife."

That made her blink. "I... am aware."

She was. Outside of their rooms, she played the doting wife. She was constantly near her husband or watching him lovingly when they passed each other. Their hands were intertwined often, and she had pulled him into several kisses in public as they played their parts.

Tyland sighed. "You look miserable, little wife. The moment we dismiss the servants, you look as if the world itself does not exist before your eyes."

Did she?

"My mother died just weeks ago. My father had an affair with my lady. I have been adjusting to our life, husband, but I am not miserable." Overwhelmed? Definitely. Tired? Certainly. She felt distant and foggy, as if her life from that fateful night had been a dream, but she wasn't unhappy per say.

"People are starting to whisper, princess!" Jason hissed angrily. "This was your plan, but we are still affected! Do you have any idea how difficult it is for us to be here? We understand that things are difficult, but its been weeks, good sister! Where was is the young woman who waltzed into our quarters and practically demanded a husband? Where is the princess with a plan that we agreed to help?"

Tyland elbowed his brother. "You have not relaxed once, wife, and everyone can tell. You wear exclusively black and talk less to everyone. The spark in your eyes faded. Your people are worried, wife."

She looked down. "I..."

What could she say? She was trying? She was trying to heal? She was constantly exhausted and having to consistently see the Whore everywhere she turned made her sick to her stomach? She was so angry at everyone?

Her eyes watered, it made her furious. She was useless like this.

Tyland stood, moving over to her side, before kneeling and grabbing her hands in his. "We are Lannister's, little wife. The family works together, we help each other. Individually, we are not as strong as we are together, as a Pride. Let us help you?"

She bit her lip, was it worth trusting again? Could she? No. Perhaps. She wasn't sure, but she wanted to try. Even knowing it would probably lead to her doom. There wasn't much she could say, but maybe, just maybe, she could try to trust again. "There is a saying: A Dragon alone is a terrible thing. The gold cloaks belong to Daemon. The Kingsguard will protect my father until the end, including his whore. The Valeryon's have two current dragons and will possibly get a third if my cousin claims Vhagar as she wants to, as well as the largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms loyal to them. My uncle and his mount are fully loyal to the king. Syrax, while I adore her, has not tasted battle like most of the others. If war comes, husband, then I will loose. And that mess doesn't even include if Alicent has a child, which will mess things up even more. On top of shoring up my own forces, trying to rebuild Dragonstone, listening in the meeting for the Small Council as still the cup bearer, and dealing with being both a married woman and my mothers death? Yes, I am overwhelmed. I cannot relax until I can guarantee my safety. I am in mourning, despite how much the rest of the kingdom wants to forget our queen's death. I am a dragon alone, and it is... an exhausting thing."

Rhaenyra bravely met her husband's eye, daring him to say she was wrong. She wasn't being stupid by distancing herself from the pastel princess of her youth. It was both a choice and out of respect for her mother and Baelon. People needed to see her as more than just the doll her parents wanted.

The princess may have been raised to not envy the Iron Throne, but that didn't mean she had not watched the game. She wondered if her mother would be ashamed of her. Aemma had always warned that the Throne was what brought their house down, but until she was safe, Rhaenyra didn't have a choice. She needed her blood on the throne.

This wasn't her game. She should have been anywhere else, as the lady wife of a lord. Yet, here she was.

It made her seethe in rage. She could hear Syrax mirroring her wrath from the dragon pit. Rhaenyra loved being a Targaryen, loved the rich history of their family, and the power that came with it. She loved her bond with her Golden Lady and the way Rhaenys magic made her veins sing.

What she didn't love was that everyone else seemed to forget that their bloodline was just as much of a curse as it was a blessing. She had heard before that when a Targaryen is born, a coin is tossed and the world waits with bated breath to see how it lands. But that was wrong, wasn't it. There wasn't just insanity or not, there was a third option: weakness.

Everyone of her blood seemed to pick that option lately. Uncle Daemon was weak. Her father was a flightless wyrm who deserved not his throne nor his title. His cousins were weak in their loyalty. Even her mother, bless her soul, did not possess the Targaryen soul. Granted, the late queen had always been more of a falcon in Rhaenyra's eyes, locked in a golden cage, but still a falcon.

She was exhausted, over worked, more than a little bit overwhelmed, and desperately needing a break that lasted more than a few measly hours. But, alas, the game waited for no one.

Spine straightening, she gave her husband and good brother a small smile. She appreciated their silence at her loss of decorum. After all, her problems were not things so easily fixed. But it was nice to at least pretend they listened.

She patted Tyland's hand softly, before excusing herself, ignoring the stunned silence behind her. Though she did see the twins exchanging looks with each other. Perhaps, she realized, they had not been expecting her to think as she did. She was certain they expected petty things, silly things that royals her age should worry about.

But, alas, she had no more time for childhood, or the worries that came with it. There were more important things to worry about.

"Good sister?" Lord Jason called, "I believe you have forgotten something."

She paused, turning to face the table once more. "Oh? And what is that?"

Tyland smirked, prowling to her side and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her in close. He bent, so that his breath touched her ear. "You are a Lannister, little wife. And we have the biggest army in the Seven Kingdoms. We also have the largest coffers. If war comes to House Lannister, then the Pride will gather."

Rhaenyra laughed.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra slid down her Golden Lady's back, hiding a laugh as Tyland dismounted behind her. Her husband wobbled like a drunkard. Though, from the way his eyes were sparkling, he didn't seem to mind at all. Dragon riding was difficult for those not used to it after all.

It had only been two months since that disastrous night, and not even that long since she had been wed. Yet, Tyland had asked within a month of their marriage if Syrax would be willing to take him to the skies as well. She had been surprised, as none of her past companions had ever desired to be anywhere near Syrax. That didn't mean it wouldn't send a powerful statement if she allowed it.

Not that she would have dreamed of saying no, Syrax loved to show off, and the more people who knew just how perfect Syrax was, the better. Her lovely lady had always been one of the friendlier dragons, so much so that she once took Laena for a ride. Daemon and Laenor had ridden with her once too. But that was a long time ago. Now, Syrax could only show off her beauty to the dragon handlers and they were used to seeing her. Having someone else admire her Golden scales made Syrax preen. Spoiled girl.

So they had taken Tyland into the skies, letting him see the magnificence she could never put into words. Her husband clung to her, laughing brightly as they flew. The ride had been short, only half an hour or so, but her poor husband always looked drunk when his feet finally hit the ground again.

Of course, Jason had been worse. The arrogant lord had asked for a ride as well, in their chambers of course, and she hadn't thought to deny him. She would treasure the memories of Lord Jason Lannister face planting after his first dragon ride, while Tyland doubled over laughing. While she liked him more than she had before approaching them two moons ago, his ego was still... massive. Perhaps landing in the dirt could help him fit into rooms better by shrinking his ego a bit.

Poor Jason was an experienced horse rider and thought the skill would transfer from horse to dragon. He had been very wrong.

At least Tyland hadn't fallen over this time, she thought, hiding a smile behind her hand. He was starting to get used to these rides, going with her in the skies twice a week since the first ride. It was nice, in an unexpected way.

As always, the moment Tyland found his legs again, he pulled her in for a long, grateful kiss. He seemed to love the sky as much as she did. When he pulled away, Rhaenyra stopped him, one hand gripping the back of his hair to keep him close. Not close enough to kiss again, but close enough that their words could not be overheard by anyone else.

"I'm pregnant."

Just in time too. Her fathers wedding was tomorrow. While she was absolutely terrified of the birthing bed, she knew this was a good thing. She needed heirs to keep her place safe. Which was part of why she waited so long to say anything.

According to Maester Gerardys, who she had gone to almost a two weeks prior, she was currently about six weeks along. He had been sworn to secrecy, thank the Fourteen, and he was loyal to her. He did warn her that being pregnant so young was not great for her health, and that she seemed to be carrying a little larger, but he reassured her that she was progressing well.

Tyland stared at her in shock, scanning her face as if looking for deception where there was none. "Are you sure?" He asked softly, bringing one hand to stroke her cheekbone.

Rhaenyra ducked her head. "It's early still, but Gerardys recognized the symptoms immediately. He said my temperature raise is normal for Targaryen women, and I will stay warmer until I give birth."

What she did not say was that if a Targaryen woman did not have the noticeable warmth, then the pregnancy was not viable. Aemma, Balerion bless her soul, had only warmed for her birth. If she cooled too much, so would the hatchling in her womb. That could lead to death at worst, or birth defects at best.

It was not a well known symptom of pregnancy for those of Old Valyrian blood, but it wasn't unexpected. Because of her husband, she hadn't been sure if his blood would... affect her own symptoms. Yet, she felt fine.

Tyland's eyes lit up, looking as if green fire was blazing in his soul. He leaned forward, catching her lips in a slow, possessive kiss. She was almost afraid that he would burn himself with how hot she was running, but her husband didn't seem to care.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, next to her Golden Lady being held by her knight, but eventually, they had to pull apart.

"Cancel any plans for tomorrow morning, little wife, and I will do the same. I very much doubt you will be able to move." He whispered in her ear, nipping the shell just hard enough that a shiver ran down her spine.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat. "The King's wedding week-"

She was silenced with another long, slow kiss.

"Tomorrow, my princess, is the beginning of the festivities, the welcoming speeches, and an evening meal. We need not attend everything. We can make Jason go in our steed, he will not mind, peacock that he is." He gave her a smirk, before pulling away and placing a single kiss on the back of her knuckles. "Until tonight, my darling princess."

He practically pranced away, bowing once more to Syrax in thanks. She saw him whisper something to her Golden Lady as he passed, something that made amusement flow through their bond.

She gave Syrax a questioning look, but her darling wasn't about to give up whatever she had been told. No matter how much Rhaenyra pouted. They were both stubborn.

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't spend all day here anymore. She sighed, cuddling her girl one last time, before going back to the Red Keep. While she mostly shared the apartments with her husband and good brother, Rhaenyra still had her rooms as Princess of the Blood, as did Rhaenys, Daemon, and the rest of her living relatives.

Unlike them, she had turned hers from being personal chambers into a solar, offices, meeting rooms, and guest rooms, and so on. While Tyland and Jason mostly shared rooms, these were hers. It was difficult for her, trying to build up her lands from here, but she didn't mind the challenge.

Salt and ash seemed to be the best things that she could trade, as every kingdom needed it to preserve their meat. Her good brother bought an abundance from her, more than he needed, and always paid extra. He also refused to have the coin returned. Jason warned her that, though he was grateful she was willing to discount her goods for his people, she should not do so. Not until she had her own fortune solidly built up.

Jason was surprisingly intelligent, he advised her which houses to reach out to, which would need her products the most, and even which ones would try to take advantage of her nature. He told her that if she wanted to be seen as a queen then she had to act like Dragonstone was her Kingdom. Which meant having good relationships with her lords and gaining their loyalty through intelligence.

He had surprised her by ordering lumber from the north to help her build up the first of the ports and trade ships. Once he had introduced Lord Stark to her, he had stepped back and allowed her to negotiate as Lady Paramount. Lord Stark would send lumber and steel, and in return, she sent salt and dragonglass.

Her good brother had brought her an entire plate piled high with lemon cakes in celebration that night.

She was learning under his tutoring more than she had ever learned from her king or the rest of her blood. Every single hour of her two month time limit had been used to better herself and her people. She couldn't afford to rest, yet, but that did not matter. What mattered was that she was becoming... better. A better ruler. All thanks to the Lannister's.

Was he still an arrogant, cocky jerk? Absolutely yes. But he was family now, and that meant she would do her duty and protect House Lannister until her death. Perhaps even beyond.

What she did know was that with this little one in her womb, she had guaranteed her husband would stand with her. And with one of the Lannister twins on her side, Jason was sure to follow. Oh, she was terrified.

Yet, somehow, the knowledge that if she did die on the birthing bed, Tyland and the rest of the Lannisters would push for their child to be the next on the throne was... nice. Well, sons. If she had a daughter, then she would inherit Dragonstone exclusively.

Rhaenyra suspected it was a boy though. She was stuck between two names, Aenar, for the father of Daenys the Dreamer and Gaemon the Glorious, or Artys, the first king of the Mountains and the Vale. She liked the idea of honoring her Targaryen ancestors who had lived up to their house words, but she also liked the idea of her father going pale when he heard Artys. Because the king would know.

If she was wrong, and it was a girl, then perhaps Daella or Viserra.

How odd that she was no longer drawn to Visenya's name. Not that she was particularly surprised by that. The child who dreamed of a little sister or brother had long since died, and with her, so too had the hopes and dreams of childhood.

Rhaenyra hated this sometimes. She hated this game. Some days she longed to be pulled into her fathers arms to hide away from the cruel reality she was trapped in. She missed her family, yet she had not heard a word from any of them since the day her father announced his bride. Not once had Daemon written to her, not once had Cousin Rhaenys tried to reach out, not once had either Laena or Laenor tried to speak to her.

Thoroughly abandoned by the traitors to her blood, she had been... lonely she supposed. While she liked her husband and good brother well enough, she hated intruding on their time together. She felt like an outsider to everyone but Syrax.

Well, perhaps everyone but Syrax and the new baby.

She mentally tugged on her bond, getting a surge of protectiveness back. Syrax was part of her, and she was part of her Golden Lady. Syrax would never bond as deeply with anyone else, even if she took a new rider after Rhaenyra's death. If the worst happened, she knew she could depend on her dragon to protect her child. Syrax would burn all of Kings Landing at the first sign of danger towards her rider.

Then again, it would already be blood and ash if Rhaenyra had allowed it. She was the only thing standing between Kings Landing and their doom. And if, one day, she needed to let her viciousness reign to protect herself...

Well, she had already given up this much for the damn throne. She would melt it before she let a Hightower sit on the Iron Throne.

----

They kept quiet about her pregnancy. At least, until the final day of the wedding celebrations. The only people who knew were Tyland, Jason, Syrax, and the maester who confirmed it. Then again, they only had to keep silent for a short time.

Now, though, they were finally ready to make their move.

Rhaenyra had foregone her usual black dresses for a vibrant, gorgeous Arryn blue one instead. She had paired it with golden accessories, a delicate necklace with aquamarine in the shape of a dragon rested against her throat while a gold and aquamarine circlet rested on her braided head. She wanted to look like the very vision of her mother this week, which meant wearing her dresses and colors. Tyland had chosen to wear mostly gold himself, but together? They made an eye catching couple.

Jason walked in front of them, preening in his red and gold clothing as if all eyes were on him and not his good sister and her husband. Of course, today was important for more than one reason. This might be the reception for the king and his consort, but...

It was also the perfect time for her announcement. Accidentally of course, she was no savage.

She had... accidentally let it slip to her dear cousin Jeyne and her aunt Amanda while the men were occupied with the feast. She could see the cruel understanding from her cousin and aunt. They had put together what was happening almost immediately, and seemed pleased to play their parts.

From them, it spread like flames over a dry field. The best part was that no one could blame Rhaenyra, Tyland, or Jason at all.

Surely, the young princess would confide in her cousin and aunt. It was her first pregnancy after all. Rhaenyra hadn't made a large announcement, but it wasn't needed.

By the time the bedding ceremony was due to start, she saw Ser Harrold whispering to a, suddenly, very pale looking king. Viserys' eyes locked on hers, making the princess smile prettily.

The king stood, wavering as he called for silence. Once the hall was quiet, he addressed her. Publicly, like an idiot.

"My daughter," Viserys said, misery clear in his features as he approached them. He did not bother keeping his voice down. "Why did you not tell me of this glorious news? If I am to be a grandsire, I would have rather heard it from-"

Tyland circled behind her, pulling her into his arms. The movement made the king choke, especially as Tyland rested one protective hand on her belly. "We just found out, your grace, and we did not want to... take the attention away from you and your bride. But it is true, yes. We found out recently that we are expecting."

Rhaenyra bit back a laugh. "We, dear husband? I thought it was I whom would have my organs kicked for moons. I'm glad to know we can share the pain."

She could feel the Hightower's watching her, she thought smugly. Well, all but one. Oh, Otto Hightower glared, clearly furious at the news, but the man looked nowhere near her. He couldn't.

Rhaenyra had laughed for hours when Otto Hightower first got ill, hidden away in her own office to cackle like a mad woman. Sure enough, within a moon, the man lost his vision completely. He relied on either his daughter or youngest son to lead his way. Today, as it was Alicent's wedding, Gwayne had the dubious honor of leading the King's hand around.

The lack of vision hadn't gotten rid of the old stain yet, but Rhaenyra knew it would be even less satisfying if he had fucked off to Old Town. She couldn't wait for Alicent's children to be born, for Otto to hear the wonderful news that his pious daughter had bastards. Ah, it would be so satisfying.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra knew her children would probably look Targaryen more than they would look Lannister. She wouldn't be surprised at all if her children were clones of her family members. But, with some families at least, the blood was stronger. Targaryen blood in particular was stubborn. In just a few months, they would see how stubborn exactly.

Even if they looked like her husband, within blonde hair and green eyes, she wouldn't mind at all. Her children wouldn't be forced to have any... particular features. They would be as the gods decided.

Tyland twirled her around, looking deeply into her eyes. "If I could take the pain, my little wife, I would. Your bravery knows no bounds. To take on a battle that men cannot is a courage beyond words. I am grateful that you are willing to sacrifice your comfort short term, my princess, but I wish you did not have to. I wish, no, we all hope that your pregnancy will be easy, and that you and our child will come through stronger than ever." He kissed her forehead gently, acting like he had completely forgotten about their audience. "I will say this, though, you become more gorgeous with every day that passes with you in my arms."

Rhaenyra blushed, glancing down shyly. She gently swatted his arm. "Come now, husband, you are making a scene. We cannot forget what this celebration is truly for. Joining my father and his bride is a far more important event than anything else."

Tyland kissed her softly. "Nothing is more important than you, in my eyes." He said softly, just loud enough for those near them to hear. "But for the kingdom as a whole... I suppose I can resist bragging about your beauty and bravery, my dragon."

"Bravery? You speak of mine, when you are full of courage yourself. After all, no normal man would be willing to ride a dragon." Was Rhaenyra being slightly petty, knowing Alicent would hear? Yes. She would never let the new queen forget that where Alicent faltered by her side, Tyland rose to meet her in the skies.

Instead of staying on the ground, like the wingless wyrms, Tyland was more than willing to face fear itself. It was funny, she thought, how green Alicent looked.

Her poor idiot of a father abandoned his new bride to come to her side, hovering a hand over Rhaenyra's flat stomach, but not touching. Viserys wouldn't need to. He could feel the heat radiating from his daughter, Rhaenyra knew. They both had no doubt what it meant.

In a moment of... weakness perhaps, she gently grabbed her fathers hand, resting it on her belly with a small smile.

Viserys lit up, eyes light dragon fire for the first time since the death of his mount. He turned to address the room as a whole. "My heirs heir! Our future King or Queen rests in my daughter's belly! Your crown princess will soon have a prince or princess of her own! This calls for celebration! Feasts! Tournaments! A month long celebration shall begin in the morrow!"

Tyland's arms tightened around her, but he seemed pleased. Almost as pleased as his brother did.

Across the room, the whore certainly looked like she had fallen in dragon dung again. The Whore clutched her own stomach protectively, an odd look in her eyes.

Oh, Rhaenyra thought viciously, Alicent was pregnant as well. She was far enough along that she clearly knew it. And, from the way her dress hid her abdomen, she was clearly showing at least slightly. She could see the way Alicent was picking at her hands again, could almost smell the blood from here.

Hm. They could use this to her advantage. She would need to speak to her husband and good brother soon. They might see something she missed.

----

Seven months into Rhaenyra's marriage, the first card fell. Alicent gave birth to her first born son. Aegon.

Not only did it prove that she had slept with someone before marriage, since Alicent herself had only been married for five months when she gave birth to an 'early, but healthy' babe. Despite his perfectly large size, they tried to claim he had strong dragon blood, which was why he was clearly an average sized babe.

Aegon was born with pretty green eyes, those eyes his mother and grandfather shared, and dark brown hair, just like the Hand. His features were plain, Andal like in the worst way. There was nothing about the boy worth looking twice at.

But the most interesting part about the babe... was that he wasn't born healthy. Not really. No, Aegon was born with a club foot.

It was a secret, but her father had told her in confidence, hours after the babes birth. Which made the fact that both Alicent and Otto kept mentioning his supposed dragon blood even more amusing. After all, they were blaming the fact that the boy was born so early on the Targaryen bloodline. They couldn't use the excuse though, if the child wasn't healthy.

While Rhaenyra knew the babe was probably her half brother, the court had no such assurances. Especially after the babe was burned by the dragon egg laid in his cradle. For the rest of his life, the boy would have the scales burned into the flesh of his arm.

Otto's screams of fury had been hilarious to hear. And oh so satisfying.

By the time Rhaenyra gave birth, the court was holding their breath. Just a week early, the princess gave birth herself. Twin boys, Aenar and Artys, were born perfectly healthy and beautiful, as Targaryen's should be. Both boys had the same silvery-gold hair that her family was known for, and identical violet eyes.

Aenar was loud, demanding in a way Artys was not. He only liked three people, Rhaenyra, Tyland, and Jason. If he was passed to anyone else, he screamed loud enough it sounded like a dragons roar. Or perhaps a lion was more accurate when he was still this small.

Artys was much more calm. He immediately went to whoever his parents passed him to, though he seemed particularly fascinated with Lady Jeyne.

Rhaenyra had been lucky enough to give birth with Jeyne, Amanda, and Tyland all with her while her father and Jason waited anxiously in the main room. When the men were allowed in, Viserys' tears flowed like rain down his aging face. The king wasn't interested in his grandchildren, not in that moment, at least.

No, Viserys had been fully focused on his exhausted daughter. He sat next to her, stroking her hair and whispering in high Valyrian until she fell asleep.

She never saw the looks of pure sorrow and adoration as her father gently watched her rest. Rhaenyra never saw how careful Viserys was when he got his grandsons into his arms for the first time. She never knew that her father had blessed the babes by the Fourteen Flames almost instinctively.

But, that also meant she never knew what else happened when she was asleep.

Two dragons had been born, and two dragons returned for the first time in a long time. Kings Landing wept in joy.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra could admit, waking up to not one, but three dragons circling Maegor's holdfast was odd. One of them had been expected, Syrax always responded to her pain and anger, so why wouldn't the dragon come to her in labor? Syrax was well behaved at least, and willing to not cause a mess.

But seeing Vermithor, the previous mount of King Jaehaerys, and Dreamfyre, a dragon who was notorious for not bonding with a Targaryen since Rhaena, despite living around them for all of her life, had been a shock. Her firstborn, Aenar, had the dragon of the last king as his bonded. Legends said that Vermithor hatched for Jaehaerys, just like Syrax had for Rhaenyra and Silverwing hatched for Alysanne. But no longer was the massive dragon a hatchling. No, the Bronze Fury was ironically one of the more human tolerant of the dragons, but he was massive, with extremely intelligent eyes that made her wonder. He was so massive that his steps left indentations as he carefully landed and walked to meet his new bonded.

On the other hand, Dreamfyre... Dreamfyre had not claimed a Targaryen since Rhaena, daughter of Aenys, who's life was absolutely miserable. And with Rhaena's story being the tragedy that it was, the fact that she had bonded with her youngest son was worrying. After the death of Rhaena, Dreamfyre stayed in the dragonpit, but refused anything to do with the Targaryen line.

Except, she had broken through her chains of Valyrian Steel just so she could approach Artys. With some luck, Dreamfyre would be just as protective as Syrax and Vermithor.

Though, admittedly, she did find it a good sign that both Dreamfyre and Vermithor were owned by siblings, those being Queen Rhaena and King Jaehaerys himself. Rhaena and Dreamfyre, Aegon and Quicksilver, Jaehaerys and Vermithor, Alysanne and Silverwing.

Yet, there were two more children born to Aenys, Viserys, who was killed at ten and five, tortured for days until his body gave out by his own uncle. Vaella, the youngest child, never made it past the cradle.

But that was just how their family was. Some became remembered as great, in this case Jaehaerys and Alysanne, while others... were forgotten. She prayed that the dragons were not a sign of what was to come for her boys.

Just because Viserys and Rhaenyra were hesitant didn't mean everyone was. Tyland had been more of a peacock than a lion from the moment the bonds were noticed. Jason had made bracelets for the boys, one of bronze and red, the other of blue and black, symbolizing the twins bonds with their houses and their dragons. Even cousin Jeyne seemed more interested in Artys because of Dreamfyre. She was already talking of building out a dragonpit for the boy and his bonded.

Time passed, as it always did, until almost a year flew by. In a few short weeks it would mark the anniversary of the night Rhaenyra found her father and maid. Then would come her own anniversary.

Ironically, there was another addition to her family, but not one she had been expecting. After Aegon's birth, and the birth of her own boys, she hadn't been able to ignore the boy anymore. He wasn't her sibling, but he was still an innocent. Alicent, with her swelled belly and insistence that this babe would be the perfect Targaryen, ignored little Aegon. Otto did as well.

It was as if the child had no value after birth because he was not Targaryen in looks, or fully healthy. It saddened her, since she knew that the boy only lived this way due to her curse, but she hardened her heart.

Aegon would have been used to kill her if he hadn't been born as he had. The child would have been raised as a weapon to be used against her. Now, he would have the peace to be who he wanted. Like Vaegon, Rhaella, or Maegelle, the boy could dedicate his life to anything other than the throne.

Perhaps music, since the babe seemed entranced with the noises and songs of the bards. Perhaps theater instead, or something else. Anything else. He now had the freedom to choose thanks to her.

That wasn't to say Rhaenyra had ignored the babe. No, she went to see him once a week for an hour or two almost every day. It was lucky she had gone that first time, as the babe had been starved and almost dead when she found him. Each and every bone in the boys body had been sticking out, making her wonder what happened to the wetnurse he was supposed to have,  as well as his nanny and minders. She had stolen him away to Dragonstone and had him nursed back to health. Now, he was back and under the care of staff she had specifically brought from Dragonstone.

No one noticed the boy unless they saw him with Rhaenyra and her twins.

Tyland had cackled and fallen over when he realized what she was doing. Or, rather, when he realized she was making herself look like the dutiful daughter and big sister by taking care of a bastard. It did excellent things for their image.

What he didn't realize was that their image was only part of her reasoning. Most of it was smugness. Otto Highcunt always went the most interesting shades of green and purple when he saw Rhaenyra and Tyland with the boys. Part of it was that her father was even more doting on her when she was seen being a good sister. Part of it was that Alicent loathed it, trying to forbid Rhaenyra from the nursery. Of course, that hadn't worked because Viserys would never dream of denying Rhaenyra. Part of it was gaining Aegon's loyalty long term. The boy would be less likely to betray her if he saw her as a maternal figure, or as close family.

She was simultaneously gaining favor from her people and father while passing off everyone else. It was delicious. And, perhaps, spiteful. But she had long since gotten used to her nature.

Which was why this day had to go perfectly.

On the morning of the anniversary, her mother and brothers deaths, she played her part perfectly. She wore dark gray, eyes full of tears as she rushed to the dragonpit. Everyone saw her take Syrax from Kings Landing to Dragonstone. When she landed, she spent the day alone, silent. She sat on the ground outside of the family crypt, letting tears fall when she heard people come near.

At sunset, she stood, placing her hand on the entryway, and whispered a final goodbye to her family, before solemnly making her way back to Syrax. When she arrived back at home, she only stopped by her family apartments to kiss her children, before retreating to her old rooms.

She spent hours pacing silently, grief threatening to overwhelm her. Her household had been dismissed for the night. She hadn't wanted to interact with anyone today, her mood foul. Her stomach sour from grief.

Syrax had been in a mood as well. Instead of curling around her bonded, her Golden Lady had vanished into a very familiar cave. It made Rhaenyra's eyebrow raise, but she was fine with being alone.

Now, though, she wasn't sure what she wanted.

Well, no. That wasn't entirely true. She knew what she wanted, to be tugged into a soft hug by her mother. She wanted Aemma to hold her close and whisper that she was doing the right thing. She wanted...

But it was impossible. Aemma would never hug her again. Not until she too burned. One day, they would reunite, but that day couldn't happen for a while. Her family, her boys, needed her.

So she grieved, feeling everything she needed to, before pulling herself together.

By the time the sun rose, she made her way to her bed, stealing Aegon, Aenar, and Artys. All three boys thankfully, were willing to sleep in. And if Tyland noticed, tucking them in before curling around them himself after wondering where the boys were, well, no one needed to know.

---

On the morning of their anniversary, Rhaenyra woke up to kisses pressed into her neck. She reached behind her, running a hand through thick, blonde hair.

"Morning." She greeted sleepily, turning in his arms.

He smiled softly, "good morning, my darling princess." Tyland tilted her head so that he could trap her lips with his. The kiss was lazy and soft. She could move away if she chose to, but today she was more than willing to accept the gentle affection.

His hands cradled her, purple staring into green.

There was something different about the way he looked at her today, something warm and strange. Intense perhaps. Normally, his eyes would drift closed first, then hers would follow, but today... today it seemed like he didn't want her out of his sight for even a moment.

Her maids were all gossiping about it all morning. Especially when he helped her pull on a gorgeous Arryn blue and Lannister red dress that evening. He helped lace up the dress. Tyland presented her with her first present then, a statue with three animals intertwined together, a ruby red lion, an obsidian dragon, and a falcon made of aquamarine. Each animal was easily the size of her fist, and made in exquisite detail.

Ironically, she had gotten him a signet ring with their own family crest, a golden three headed dragon with a lion head, ruby eyes included, instead of a tail. It was her own symbol, her personal one. He hadn't taken it off yet, and according to him, he didn't plan to. It was a good day, Aenar was grumpy, and Artys didn't scream bloody murder when he was left with his grandsire for a few minutes. The twins were a mere three moons, yet their personalities had been obvious already.

All through the day, Tyland continuously pulled her away the moment she finished a task. They were caught kissing multiple times though the day, though her favorite was just after lunch. Both Otto and Viserys had rounded the wrong corner at the wrong moment, seeing Tyland pushing Rhaenyra against the wall of an alcove.

The two men shouldn't have been anywhere near them. Tyland whispered, once they had gotten the laughter out, that it was likely the king and his hand were... accidentally led there at just the right time. Rhaenyra loved her people, especially when they helped her torment Otto.

By the time night came, the Keep was bustling. Instead of a week long celebration, or a month long one, Rhaenyra and Tyland had agreed to a single night of festivities. A feast to celebrate a year of their marriage, with all the left overs being donated to the staff who helped prepare it, and the local orphanage.

Tyland had offered to pay for the extravagant night, but Viserys refused, making the feast as grand as he could. Those invited were mostly the Lords who stayed in the Red Keep, and those of the Crownlands. Though every lord of the realm had been invited, the princess and her knight had warned everyone that they would have a large ceremony after five years of marriage, not a single one.

That didn't mean they were the only lords and ladies in attendance, of course. Her cousins, Lady Jeyne and Lady Amanda had come in a few days after the anniversary of the Late Queen Aemma's death, and had decided to stay for this as well. Evem Lady Rhae Royce had decided to attend. Of her Targaryen side, only her father had come.

Cousin Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, Laenor, Laena, and Daemon... had not. They had been silent.

Rhaenyra half wondered if they thought themselves slighted because she had chosen Tyland over Laenor, but, well, she had to choose the option best for her Kingdom and herself.

On the odd side, she had received a gift from a Targaryen, Saera, who had been notorious for leaving the Seven Kingdoms as she had. The older princess supposedly sent a book on Valyria, on dragons for a dragoness from a dragonless.

While she wasn't convinced the book was actually from Princess Saera Targaryen, who she had never met or spoken to in her life, she could confirm that it was written in High Valyrian. It was waiting on her bedside to read after the feast was over and the boys down.

Originally, she wanted to leave the boys behind, but Viserys had begged and pleaded, promising he would help with them. She finally agreed and was immediately spun around like a little girl and danced around the hall as her father laughed.

Viserys was an excellent grandfather to the boys. It wasn't rare to see her, admittedly short tempered, older son sitting on his grandsires knee while Viserys read to him. The funny voices reminded her of her own childhood, of secret midnight stories when the storms were too loud.  Even Artys was starting to show an interest in the model of Old Valyria, though he still preferred to be in his mothers arms.

But, at the feast, her father had been holding Aenar while Tyland and Jason were fussing over Artys. Rhaenyra had been enjoying a rare moment of actually eating her food while it was warm when it happened.

Her final tester, the one who sampled everything on her plate just twenty minutes prior, dropped dead from where he stood against the wall. Blood dripped from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth as he seemed to convulse for a few moments, before whatever it was finally made him still. Despite the myriad of testers she employed, something had happened between the time the fourth one and the fifth one. Something that wasn't... quick yet wasn't slow.

Screams echoed, from her father to her husband, calling for maesters, but she...

Felt fine?

A question pulsed through her bond with Syrax, who seemed just as unordered as she was. If she was in danger, Syrax would have reacted. Syrax's rage would have burned all of the Crownlands to a crisp if she had actually been in a life threatening situation. But, they were fine? She was fine. Somehow?

Syrax sent her a feeling of exasperation, mixed with light mockery, and laughter. Rude. She'd tell the keepers that Syrax was on a diet for a few weeks, see how she liked getting her food messed with.

Another wave of exasperation. Poison would not affect them. Syrax was confident that poisons were useless against them. They couldn't, apparently, and never had before. Syrax never told her, but the dragon thought her human knew.

Well.

Suffice to say Rhaenyra had been locked away in her apartments with triple the usual guards and quadruple the number of tasters before she got her own meals. It wasn't particularly fun being locked away like a princess in an old fairy tale, but she put up with it. Until now.

Nine days after the incident, Rhaenyra had finally managed to shake her guard, her husband, and her boys for a while. She had left a note to tell them she and Syrax were going to Dragonstone, and that they would be back soon enough.

As much as she liked her husband and good brother, the information she was searching for belonged exclusively in the hands of the Targaryen's. What information was that? Why the dragons scales were the color they were.

Ever since Syrax laughed at her for worrying about poisons, because her Golden Lady was gold, Rhaenyra hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Would future riders of Syrax have the same immunity Syrax and Rhaenyra did?

She knew that second riders, and those after that, did not have the same natural connection as those who's dragons hatched for them, but what if it was deeper?

When she thought of fast dragons, she thought of Caraxes and Meleys, both of whom were red. When she thought of larger dragons, she thought of Balerion, her fathers dead dragon, Vhagar, and even Cannibal, who was massive compared to his relatively young age. When she thought of fertile dragons, Dreamfyre's blue scales came to mind first. While there were several she-dragons, Syrax, Silverwing, Meleys, none of them had the fertility of Dreamfyre.

Which led to an odd conclusion: the most common dragon color was gray, while gold was one of the rarest. She knew of no other dragon who was gold like Syrax, not off the top of her head.

So, she retreated to Dragonstone, to the hidden rooms of Rhaenys, in hopes that the woman had the answers she sought.  Thankfully, Saera's book held some answers too.

First bonds, or Hatch bonds as they used to be called, were special. Dragons with their hatch bond could see through the eyes of each other, could send thoughts or emotions between them, could communicate without words, and, most interestingly, they shared something called Scale Gifts.

According to a book dated back to Gaemon the Glorious, Scale gifts were natural bonuses that each dragon shared with their hatch bond, but no other. The colors of the scales typically influenced the gift shared.

Blue dragons, for example, always attached themselves to dreamers. But if a dragon hatch bonded with an infant, the dragon and the babe could share dreams.

Black dragons were naturally fast in growth. They were always the largest, even within the first year, they would be triple the size of a normal hatchling. They usually had abnormally long lifespans, assuming they weren't felled by disease or injury. Age affected th hatch bonds less, making them stay in their prime longer.

Bronze and brown dragons were naturally the most intelligent. Their natures were cunning, sharp, and their mood swings were the most dangerous. Their hatch bonds were also likely to be both moody, and run hotter than other dragonlords. They rarely, read never, got sick unless they were poisoned.

Most interesting, at least in this moment, was that gold dragons held an immunity to poisons. All poisons. Hatch bonds could literally eat belladonna and be perfectly fine. They could also, she found, pass on the immunity to a single poison to their offspring. Both sides of the hatch bond could, but there was no guarantee which poison they would be immune to. However, the important part was that a gold Scale Gift gave poison immunity.

Which is why Rhaenyra was still alive.

Syrax told her that she hatched because Rhaenyra had been poisoned and needed her immunity. Oddly, Syrax hatched a single day after Rhaenyra's birth, which made her... wonder.

If Syrax was right, and her Golden Lady usually was, then something had almost killed her in her cradle. The only reason she lived was because her egg just happened to be golden. Should another egg have bonded with her instead, they both would have died.

For the first time in a while, she wondered about her siblings. Aemma's children. All of them survived birth, only to die after.

Rhaenyra. Jaehaerys. Viserys. Vaegon. Alyssa. Gaelon. Aenys. Gaemon. Aemmon. Alysanne. Baelon.

All of them born alive. Yet they died. All except for the only one with a golden egg that hatched in her cradle. An egg that, when hatched, gave her an immunity to poisons through their bond.

Dread threatened to drown her.

Her hand went to her stomach as she rushed to find her Golden Lady. They needed to leave King's Landing, her boys, Aegon, Tyland, and Jason.

Because only one child of Aemma and Viserys survived, and that child was her. She yanked on the bond with Syrax, who echoed her panic.

Rhaenyra had left her boys alone in the Red Keep. She prayed to the Fourteen Flames that she would not be too late to get them out. They pushed themselves harder, focused on a single goal: get their hatchings out.

If anything happened while she was gone, Rhaenyra would burn down Old Town, then the Red Keep, and dance in their ashes. Fire and blood would rain down if anyone dared to touch her babes.

That, she promised.

Chapter Text

She sat numbly on Syrax, not bothering to guide her dragon any further. She had been able hear Vermithor's cries of rage and sorrow for miles. The dragonpit was a mess, smoking, and the Bronze Fury circled a particular part of the Red Keep. The place where the Lannister apartments resided. Something was wrong.

She felt... cold.

Targaryen's never felt cold. They had fire running through their blood, making them as comfortable on Dragonstone as in the North. The magic from Old Valyria kept them warm no matter the weather. And yet, she felt so much ice in her chest.

They flew closer, being ignored by the larger dragon as they did. That was odd too. The Bronze Fury had never... disliked Syrax, from what she understood, but he was one of the most over protective of the dragons. For him to completely ignore her Golden Lady was, at best, troubling.

Vermithor was fully focused on something he couldn't reach. She hadn't heard him like this since she was six and...

For a moment, she considered letting go of the reigns, letting herself fall, but she didn't dare. She couldn't do that to Syrax.

Her only hope, her only saving grace, was that Dreamfyre was silent. Syrax flew gracefully to the courtyard, uncaring of anything as she landed. People scattered.

With shaking feet, she slowly walked inside. People were yelling, running, lined up outside the Red Keep to catch a glimpse of... something. Every lord who happened to be present was in the halls. The same halls that she had forced herself to walk through a year ago, in order to sign away her life for her safety.

The walk then had been... almost impossible. Every step felt like her shoes were made of lead, her emotions both calm and chaotic. She hadn't known it then, but she had made an excellent choice to knock, instead of continuing past.

Now, she didn't have to knock.

She simply opened the door.

The main greeting room was filled with people she vaguely recognized, as well as the cries of a single child. Artys. He sounded fine, and since Dreamfyre wasn't raging outside as well, she assumed it wasn't him who her carelessness hurt.

Bypassing everything, and everyone,  she moved swiftly through the rooms until she entered the nursery. Maester Gerardys was working quickly, brow covered in sweat as he administered... something. She stepped closer, hoping she was wrong, only to find that the babe on the ground wasn't alone.

Her eyes went first to the dark haired infant, green eyes paled over, and skin blue and gray. Aegon, her heart ached, was dead. He was laying a few feet away, not yet wrapped in a shroud. He looked so cold. Rhaenyra could tell he died screaming, from the bloodied tears that had dried on his tiny, too small face.

It hurt.

She had cared for the boy, even if she hadn't dared to love him as deeply as she had Aemma's other children. He was so young... features twisted forever in agony. Part of her wanted to scoop him up, to beg for forgiveness for the suffering the poor child had endured all because of her. Instead of freeing him to live a long life as he wished, she had damned him to dying before he was even a year old.

Her eyes moved, no matter how much her heart screamed at them not to. She could hear Syrax's roar of agony echoing her own. Because next to her little brother was Aenar, with an odd tint to his skin, almost purple. He was wheezing, tiny lungs working too hard to keep him alive.

While she had run off to find answers, her son was fighting for his life. She hadn't known, but she should have.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. Rhaenyra almost went, but something stopped her. While she instinctively knew Aenar would die if she left, something in her mind was trying-

Oh.

Light purple eyes snapped open. Oh.

She rushed to him, shoving Gerardys out of the way and brought a hand to her teeth. She savagely tore into her flesh, letting blood fill her own mouth before she moved to sit Aenar up. Her blood dripped into his mouth as she recalled the books from earlier.

Golden dragon hatch bonds are immune to poisons through their bonds. Her bonds were her blood, and thus, perhaps, maybe her blood held the immunity Syrax had granted her. After all, Targaryen blood was magic. It was their blood that allowed them to bond, so maybe?

She waited, one hand on his throat to help him swallow while the other cradled his silvery-gold head. Her bond with Syrax roared in her chest. It was a promise of safety and protection that she desperately needed.

It took... minutes or hours, she did not know. What she knew, however, was that his color was going back to its normal pale porcelain shade. It was working. Their bond was enough to keep her son alive. Silence echoed through the keep as Vermithor ceased his roars. Syrax still felt worried, but more about her rider than the child.

She collapsed next to him, uncaring of the blood still pouring sluggishly from her wounded hand. The floors, her dresses, the rugs, everything would be stained, but she couldn't care less. She would replace everything later. The only irreplaceable thing in this room was her baby boy.

His cries, quiet at first, then exhausted, but demanding, were the best sound she had ever heard.

It worked.

She didn't know how, but it had worked.

At least this time. It probably wouldn't work again. No, she instinctively knew it wouldn't. The gods wanted Aenar to live. They had allowed her to save her baby boy from deaths cold embrace. He would live to see tomorrow. The same magic that made Alicent's sons look the way they did was the same magic that allowed her little prince to survive, where Aegon had not. She had been too late to save her little brother. It was only by the grace of the Fourteen that Aenar lived.

But they would not, could not, stay here any longer. She pulled Aenar and Aegon into her arms and rose. Aegon would have a proper Targaryen funeral, but after that was done, they would leave. To Lannisport, to Casterly Rock, to Dragonstone, she didn't give a damn. As long as they were safe.

If she didn't have Syrax, if her bonded dragon wasn't a golden one, if she was Syrax's second rider... Aenar would be dead. Her baby.

She would have had to burn her baby like she did her mother and brother. Like she would have to burn Aegon. Relief and sorrow fought in her chest as the ice melted away.

Her foes had attacked her heir once. They would not get a second chance. None of her children would step foot in King's Landing until they were both of age and capable of defending themselves. Her boys would need training, starting from when they started walking, if they were to live among the vipers nest.

Tyland could train the boys physically. She would find someone who knew poisons and assassinations to teach the twins as well.

If Otto thought that she would step back and let her children die, then he was in for a rude awakening. And she knew it was him. No one else would have gotten close enough to poison Aenar and Aegon. After all, while he didn't usually visit her half brother, Otto had been Aegon's grandfather, just as Alicent was his mother. Rhaenyra couldn't block the Hightower's completely from the boy, and had assumed, perhaps stupidly, that Otto wouldn't harm his own grandchild. She knew better now.

Little Aegon had been a pawn from the moment he was conceived. He had been the reason Viserys married so quickly. And yet, from his birth, the boy had been nothing but a disappointment for Otto. A pawn, yes, but a disfigured one. No, that wasn't quite right. Otto wanted his grandson on the throne, but it had to be the perfect grandson. And Aegon was far from that image.

He's been... a bratty babe, one who was very particular about how things should be done. Intelligent too. Those green eyes were always watching for the right moment to steal treats. His personality had been developing. The babe had only been... four and a half moons. He hadn't even reached his first nameday.

So young.

Too young to burn.

But she would do so anyways.

Like all of Viserys's sons had before him.

Aenar and Artys were two days shy of three moons old, and by the gods, she would make damn sure they survived to see their name day. No matter what. Their names would not be added to those of the young she had watched burn. She swore on Syrax.

---

Once again, it fell to her to give the command. Once again, she very much did not want to. It hurt, but at least she wasn't alone this time.

Last time, she had been but a girl, a child weighed down with tasks she should not have had. And yet, she had done it then. She had given her mother and Baelon the proper send off that a Queen and Prince should have. She had made sure their funerals had gone correctly, just like, hours later, she had been the one to gather their ashes into the final jars, and she had been the one to bring them to Dragonstone crypt, where they could rest with the rest of her siblings and family. Where she too would rest one day.

She stood tall, hands clasped in front of her. Jason had the twins, Tyland stood behind her, but neither of them could take this... dreadful responsibility from her. "Dracarys, Syrax."

Her Golden Lady huffed, swinging around to butt her head into Rhaenyra's chest, reminding her rider that they were in this together, before doing as she was asked. Their souls were tied until Rhaenyra's death. Even then, one day, Syrax would return to her side once more.

Rhaenyra could never be alone in life because Syrax was by her side. Forever and always. Their bond would never leave her, even if the rest of the world...

Well, things were different now.

While she wanted to watch the pyre, she couldn't. She could feel something wasn't right. It had been nagging at her all night. People were not acting right. Perhaps she was simply being paranoid, but from the stiff way Tyland stood behind her, just far enough that he wasn't touching her, but close enough to grab her if it was needed, he felt it too.

He leaned down, lips to her ear. "Look at the Hightower's."

She did, and felt nothing but disgust. Alicent did not look like she had been crying. She did not look upset. She stood, in a green gown, not even black, with one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on the arm of a very much out of it Viserys. There was the slightest smile on her face, just a hint of something like satisfaction while her eyes glowed in the fire light.

This was not a grieving mother.

Otto was worse. His glazed over eyes, while unseeing, seemed to gleam with malice and pride. He was gloating. No more could Rhaenyra use Aegon to punish him. No more would Aegon be anything but a bad memory for House Hightower. Gwayne was by his father's side, an ever faithful dog with little enough brains to lead the man, let alone have a thought of his own. The rest of Alicent's siblings, her other three brothers, had not bothered showing up at all, showing just how unbothered they were by this mess.

The worst, though, was Lord Hobert and his son, Ormond. Their eyes were not on the pyre, no where near it. Instead, they seemed to be staring at her. Ormond looked almost... lustful in his green gaze. Lustful and smug. His eyes constantly raked over her, pausing on her curves as he looked his fill. The man seemed to be drooling. It was revolting.

Hobert, though, was green with envy as he watched Rhaenyra, muttering occasionally to his brother and son. Whatever he said made Ormond bark out in laughter, confident that no one would dare say a word to him.

"I do not like how they watch you, little wife." Tyland muttered softly. "Nor do I like how unbothered they seem that their so called heir has passed."

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back to the seductive dance of the flames. "They are confident because Alicent already caries the next heir in her belly, husband. She has proven to deliver with ease, as well. They believe that their heir will come from her."

He pulled her into his arms with a soft sigh. "They are fools. Jesters of the court. No one knows why their Lord Paramount has not taken what has been given yet. But that is not what I mean. The pig, do you see how he looks at you? How he stares?"

She shivered. She did see. It was not the first time she had seen Ormond Hightower look at her as if she was a tempting dessert, instead of the Heiress. He had, from the time of her tenth nameday when they had been introduced, looked at her like that.

Back then, Alicent had simply told her to cover up more of her developing body. Her then friend had simply shrugged and told her that was how men were, lustful creatures that, if not under the Light of the Seven, would do worse to girls like her. Rhaenyra had not understood what Alicent had been implying then, but now? Oh now she understood. And it was vile.

If Rhaenyra was more like Alicent, pious and modest, she wouldn't be looked at like that. Perhaps that was true for Alicent, who's bland features blended in well, but for Rhaenyra? No, she could never hide who she was, and that, she was almost sure, was what drew in the man. Her title. Her body was an extra.

She just hoped her husband and good brother would be enough to keep the man away. Every time he went to kiss her hand, he ran his disgusting tongue over it, before winking like he was being charming. She didn't understand how a Lord to be could be so... vile, but here he was. Even when her father had the Lord's bend the knee to her, he had still pulled the boorish move.

One of these days, she and Syrax would snap and burn down Old Town and the heir of it with it. But, until then, she had to bare it.

Besides, she was fairly certain he was doing it now to...

Why would he be staring like that now? Why did he think he could get away with it? If nothing else, this was Alicent's child, and the virtuous and pious Hightower's should be mourning the boys death. Alicent and Ormond were first cousins after all.

Aegon brought shame to their family by not looking like Viserys, and because of that, well, Rhaenyra wouldn't have been surprised if the entire family had a hand in Aegon's death. And Aenar's attempted assassination as well.

"Princess? Your father is asking for you."

She turned slightly, seeing a bulky, plain man in armor. Her father might not be a good one, but he knew that the boys had been poisoned. Thus, the entire funeral was crawling with guards. The man had promised her that he would have whoever dared to harm the children brought before her, so perhaps he had a lead?

Oh how, in moments like this, she wished Daemon would speak to her. Daemon would have known what to do, instead of muddling along in hopes of keeping her family alive.

Tyland clutched her tighter for a moment. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Rhaenyra shook her head. No, no, that would be a very bad idea. She didn't want her husband to murder the Queen's cousin at a funeral. Which would happen if Ormond made any of his usual remarks around Tyland. Or Jason.

Instead, she went by herself, passing close to the pyre in a silent prayer for strength, when everything went wrong again.

The guard had grabbed her by the back of the dress, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled them both closer to the flames. By the time anyone realized, the man threw them into the pyre.

Flames licked her skin, wood popping around her as she tried to scream. She could hear panicked voiced all around her, could barely make out her father screaming her name.

Rhaenyra felt the mans skin burning around her, blistering instantly and cracking in the heat. Her gown, a beautiful black piece, burned away too. She couldn't see anything but fire, couldn't escape.

She coughed as smoke filled her lungs, panic making her heart speed in her chest. Was this it? Was this how she died? Clung to by an assassin in the funeral pyre of her little brother?

No.

She wouldn't.

She fought the arms, the melting skin, ignored the screaming, but it was useless. She was stuck. The man had been twice as broad as Tyland, his frame far too big for her petite one to drag off of her. She was pinned.

"Syrax!" She screamed wildly. Syrax could help. Syrax was her only hope.

But nothing. There was no Syrax, no living help, just her and...

The...

Flames...

She couldn't breath. Her body ached.

A golden head appeared, shoving the carcass from her body, finally letting her take in a breath. The dragon screeched at her, a worried call both outloud and through their bond. Syrax nudged her, calling again as she stayed still, chest heaving as her brain tried to understand.

She gained herself enough to reach out and let Syrax guide her, panic and chaos in her thoughts. It wasn't until the world darkened, light no longer hurting her eyes, that she could finally gain control again.

But once she did, she wished she had not. She wished she had died.

Because, it seemed, Rhaenyra Targaryen had another surprise in her blood. She could move through fire without being burnt.

The gods really wanted her to live, she thought hysterically, looking at the now silent crowd of mourners. Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Unburnt.

Of all the gifts of her ancestors, this was the least studied. It was completely random. Worse, it was absolutely possible that most of those who had the gift... simply never knew. After all, unless they willingly embraced the flames, well, how could it be known?

Then again, on the opposite side, it was entirely possible that only a few, including herself, Gaemon the Glorious, and perhaps one of Rhaena's twins, had the ability. Those who burned, burned, but those who did not, well, their stories were often ended earlier.

She just did not understand why. Why her?

The courts though, had a different perception, according to Jason and Tyland. A cradle egg that hatched, a fully Targaryen appearance, with purple eyes and silvery-gold hair, a dragon of pure gold, the only living child of the first Queen, and now this? Oh, how perception changes.

Before, she'd kept hearing Aegon's name, or whispers of the new babe who would take her place, but apparently, the gods were clear. Even those who did not want to bend the knee couldn't deny the signs anymore than she could.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, her father exclaimed to the court, was gifted to be Unburnt so that she could reign as the first Queen of Westros.

Yet...

In the week since the announcement had been made, she'd been forced to send her sons with Jason back to Casterly Rock. There had been two more attempts made on the princes lives in the days after the funeral, and more than that on hers.

The worst of which involved someone lighting the nursery on fire and locking it. They didn't expect Rhaenyra would be able to get in through Maegor's tunnels, nor did they expect that she would get to the boys before it was too late.

And so, with a heavy heart, she sent them to the Lannister's, in hopes of keeping them alive long enough to clean their home of the nest of vipers. She had wanted to send them with Tyland, but he had absolutely refused to leave her side.

The gods may have wanted her to live, but those in the Red Keep did not.

She was running out of time, to make her own way. Her boys had been just three moons old, fragile little dragons who she had sent away for their own protection. It broke her heart, but she had no choice. She missed them dearly, flying to Casterly Rock with Tyland every other weekend was just not enough time with them.

Her father had been furious, but, eventually, agreed with her decision. If only because three of them had been poisoned in such a short time frame, causing the death of yet another prince.

Moons passed, April soon bled to November, and soon enough, another babe had joined the Royal Household. Or, rather, four. Rhaenys Targaryen, her cousin, had welcomed her second son and third child, Aemon Velaryon after her own father, in August with her husband Corlys Velaryon. The little one had been born with the same curled white hair as his siblings, sun kissed skin like his fathers, and pretty blue eyes.

In October, Laena, Rhaenys' only daughter, had welcomed twin girls, Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Velaryon with Daemon. Apparently, the two had married in March of 113, which made the births... early. Then again, considering both girls apparently looked identical to their mother, with tanned skin, curly white hair, and dark purple eyes, their father was not immediately obvious. Daemon claimed them still.

Alicent gave birth to Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, her newest pawn, towards the end of November. To the surprise of the court, Jaehaerys was born with tanned skin, and ashy brown hair, which caused... whispers. But, what made it worse, was that the young Prince was born without eyes.

People whispered about that. Wondering what Alicent had done to displease the gods. Those who dared say the words were scoffed at, clearly the child was a punishment for her unfaithful ways.

Thank the Fourteen that none of the new additions had hatched cradle eggs. The last thing they needed was for the Velaryon family to have even more dragons under their control.

In November of 113, Princess Rhaenyra once more braved the birthing bed. Two more royals were born, Prince Baelor Lannister- Targaryen, and Princess Vaenyra Targaryen. The moment the two were born, it was decided that Aenar would marry Vaenyra, if only because Silverwing had come for the girl moments after her birth. Baelor, though, had a cradle egg that hatched for him, a ruby red hatchling with gorgeous garnet colored membranes that they called Tyraxes.

After their birth, she moved her family fully to Dragonstone. Thankfully, since she had inherited it once she married in April of 112, she had plenty of time to... clean house how she liked.

Her children would be provided for, as their lands were prosperous. With the salt they extracted from the seas, the volcanic ash that helped the fields grow lush, and the mines filled with jewels, Dragonstone had tripled in size since she became its Lady.

All four of her children had an inheritance thus far, Aenar and Vaenyra would be King and Queen after Rhaenyra herself, Artys would marry a cousin of Jeyne's, and become Lord Paramount of the Vale, while little Baelor was a bit more on the air, either being the future Lord Lannister if Jason and his new bride, Johanna had no children, or becoming Lord Paramount of Dragonstone. Either way, the boy would be set.

Early in the year 114, Laenor, the eldest son of Rhaenys, suddenly passed while at sea with his... friend Joffrey. In the same month, February, Rhaenys collapsed, becoming sickly. Luckily, little Aemon seemed fine, from what her spies told her.

Midsummer, in July, Prince Jaehaerys suddenly passed away. The official story was that the boy died in his sleep, but Rhaenyra and Tyland suspected that the Hightower's had something to do with it. Mostly because, again, the Queen was pregnant, and having a child with hair that seemed to darken everyday was a shame on her family. They had no proof that Alicent herself was involved, the Alicent from Rhaenyra's childhood would never, but things seemed too... suspicious to think that it was simply a natural death.

Laena had her third child, another girl called Gaela in November of 114, which unfortunately took her life. She bled out, but the babe had survived. Daemon, supposedly mad with grief, sent his three daughters to Driftmark and disappeared into the Free Cities with Caraxes.

The news of Laena's death, and the subsequent abandonment of Baela, Rhaena, and Gaela, reached Rhaenys six days later, on the 12th day of November. The news broke the Queen that never was, killing her instantly. The Maester claimed it was a heart attack, but her husband said it was a broken heart.

Corlys, unable to keep the children alone, separated them. Baela and Aemon were kept in Driftmark, possibly to be married eventually, while Rhaena and Gaela had, originally, been sent to Alicent. Luckily, Rhaenyra made a case for the care of the girls, and took them instead, since Alicent was due to give birth any day and clearly could not handle the stress of two young children.

Alicent gave birth to twin boys, Princes Aemond and Viserys Targaryen, in December. Both boys had hair black as coal, and green eyes. Aemond, the elder twin, stubbs for hands that had not fully developed, which would have made it difficult, if not impossible, to hold the reigns of a dragon. Viserys, the younger, had been born without a tongue, and unable to make a single sound.

Those oddities made the whispers of the queens faithfulness become louder. When it became known that the dragon eggs sent for instantly went cold when they were placed with the boys, yet somehow burned the two bad enough to scar them, a decision was made.

Viserys himself had been approached several times by members of the Small Court and the Faith itself, and asked to set aside his clearly unfaithful wife. He placated them by saying the next child will definitely be Targaryen. He laughed off the odd looks of his supposed children by saying that this was clearly the gods way of letting them know Rhaenyra was meant to be Queen.

Her brothers would be her sworn shield and sword, but the Iron Throne belonged to her. Perhaps Aemond would be a scholar, able to advise his sister, while Viserys the younger would be good with a sword.

In January of 115, Rhaenyra once again gave birth, this time to a daughter. Princess Aemma Targaryen had her mothers looks, but her father's coloring. It was decided that she would likely marry Baelor when the time came. Ironically, her girl was bonded to Seasmoke at her birth, Laenor's old dragon.

At the end of that year, in December 115, came the final child of King Viserys and Queen Consort Alicent, a dark haired, dark eyed boy called Otto Targaryen, though only officially. Everyone referred to the child as Otto the Younger.

After the birth of her son, Queen Consort Alicent decided to visit Old Town, leaving the boys, except for her eldest: the supposed False Prince Aemond, who came with her. The False Princes Viserys and Otto, were sent to Dragonstone in hopes of their sister taking them in.

For her part, Rhaenyra had taken both Rhaena and Gaela, Daemon and Laena's daughters, into her household as fosters. They were both Velaryon by name, so she made it a point to make sure they knew the seas. After all, Velaryon's belonged to the seas as much as Targaryen's belonged in the skies. Luckily, because they had come to her so young, it was simply normal for them not to have dragons, as none of their living Velaryon kin did.

When the king approached Rhaenyra about taking in Viserys the Younger and Otto the Younger, he had... suggested that perhaps their names could be changed to reflect their status. So, she had done so with the courts blessing, calling them Vis and Oz Truefyre, starting their own line. While they could have simply been given their mothers maiden name of Hightower, Viserys had confided that he didn't want the children associated with his name or his wife's, in hopes that their shame could be ignored.

The Truefyre siblings, as they were so young, were raised to protect the Targaryen's, even with their oddities. They were both so young when they came to her that neither had been truly brainwashed into wanting dragons of their own. They understood that only Targaryen's had dragons, not them.

When Daemon's bastards started getting sent to Rhaenyra a year after Laena's death, she was resigned and grateful that her household could accommodate the fosters. First came little Saera Blackfyre in February of 116, named for her jet black hair. The violet eyes gave away her father, as easily as the letter given to her. Then came Daena Blackfyre in April. As both girls were bastards, albeit Dragonseed, they remained on Dragonstone.

For her own amusement, she betrothed Vis Truefyre to Saera Blackfyre, and Oz Truefyre to Daena Blackfyre. The thought of Otto's grandchildren marrying Daemon's bastards always made her snicker. Especially because none of them were even in the line for succession.

Eventually, Rhaenyra's title of Realms Delight resurfaced, as she was clearly the mother reborn for taking in the bastards that shamed her family and giving them an education.

When the time came, in the year 120, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She was called the Queen of Hearts during her rule, sometimes the Unburnt Queen or the Golden Queen, and was remembered for her charity and innovative ideas. She had eleven children in her life, Aenar and Artys, Baelor and Vaenyra, Aemma, Maekar, Daeron, Valarr, Rhaegel, Aelor, Daerys, who all lived to adulthood.

Aenar and his wife, Vaenyra, had six children of their own. Artys and his Arryn bride had two. Baelor and Aemma had nine. Maekar married into the Baratheon family, having four children with his bride. Daeron never married and instead became a scholar, like his great uncle Vaegon. Valarr and his bride, a cousin from the line of Saera Targaryen, had eight children. Rhaegel married into the Tyrrell Family, with thirteen children of his own. Aelor had only ever had eyes for Daerys, and the two wed in the old ways, settling into the Stepstones that they conquered together with their two children.

By the time she died, she saw her forty-four grandchildren, and nineteen great-grandchildren. She had passed on the crown to her son once he turned thirty five, crowning Aenar King and Vaenyra Queen. Her son did the same, passing his crown to his daughter, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Second of Her Name once she turned thirty five.

Both Rhaenyra and Tyland were happy together, falling deeper in love every day. When Tyland passed, the whole Realm mourned the death of the King Consort. Including Rhaenyra's faithful dragon Syrax.

Daemon Targaryen never stepped foot in the seven kingdoms again. Though his dragon, Caraxes, returned to Dragonstone a year after the birth of Daena Blackfyre. He was assumed dead.

Alicent Targaryen, once risen to the rank of Queen, had been disgraced by her bastards and, once she returned to Old Town, she was stoned. Her son, Aemond, went into the Starry Sept that very day, his name erased from the history books.

Neither Vis nor Oz were capable of baring heirs of their own, even with the wives they had, and their lines disappeared after a single generation, much to the relief of the Small Court.

In the end, King Viserys died alone, having locked himself away to spend his days with his model of Old Valyria. Though his death was ruled an accident, the Table collapsed on him while he was under it, he was mourned by very few. Remembered as Viserys the Fool, killed by the one thing he loved.

As for Otto Hightower, he lived a very long life, trapped in the old Tower of the Hand until his death. His tongue was removed a few days after Queen Rhaenyra took the Iron Throne, though no one knows who took it. Every time a new Targaryen was born, or bonded, the Hightower was visited and told of it. He spent the rest of his days hearing how Rhaenyra's line thrived, hoping to hear about an uprising from his grandsons. And yet, it never happened.

In two generations, the Hightower Line was basically extinct.

But the line of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen lived on. Because from her blood came the Prince Who Was Promised.