Chapter Text
Aemma stared at the maester, tears of pain and grief streaming down her face, as he tried to bring her daughter back to life; she had been born breathing, but had inexplicably stopped shortly after and sent everyone in the birthing room into a panic.
Her husband and cousin, Viserys, held her back from trying to crawl from the bed to get their child; she had just spent nearly an entire day laboring to bring their babe into the world, and she was still bleeding.
Suddenly, a shrieking cry rent the tense, anguished silence and Aemma wept only harder. She slumped into Viserys, who was muttering prayers to the Fourteen as the maester turned, smiling, and placed their child into her arms.
She was perfect, so utterly perfect. Their little miracle. With tufts of white-blonde hair on her head and pink flushed skin, she was the epitome of Valyrian ancestry. Aemma kissed her brow and marveled over her tiny fingers.
Viserys kissed her temple. "Thank you, my love," he breathed, brushing a hand over their daughter's head.
"What shall her name be?" Aemma asked softly, not taking her eyes from her babe; afraid that if she even glanced away she would stop breathing again.
"Rhaenyra," Viserys murmured, taking one of Rhaenyra's waving fists into his hand gently. Aemma smiled brightly, pressing a soft kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, our little miracle.”
The newly named Rhaenyra blinked her eyes open, making her parents gasp softly. She focused on the somewhat blurry faces above hers, pale brows furrowing in bemusement. She knew, as she usually did, that she had been reborn; she had heard her new parents say her new name, and she liked it well enough, but she had never seen two people with purple eyes or such pale blonde hair before, in any life, unless they were albino.
“She has my mothers eyes,” her father breathed, tears in his purple eyes. Her father was young, likely in his late teens or early twenties. Her mother, however, was alarmingly young, likely in her mid-teens. “She’s beautiful, Aemma.”
“Isn’t she, Viserys?” her mother, Aemma, whispered.
Rhaenyra, who was formerly Hadriana Potter, reached her weak and annoyingly uncooperative arm toward her mother’s chin. Aemma beamed when her tiny, baby fingers touched her chin, and Rhaenyra wanted to grin smugly, but her unused facial muscles refused to comply.
“Shall we introduce her?” Viserys asked softly, glancing at Aemma with such a loving, sappy expression Rhaenyra was tempted to barf, but her stomach was empty…and snarling for food. Oh, no - she was going to be breastfed, wasn't she?
***
The answer was yes, she was going to be breastfed. After she was introduced to several more pale haired people - her great-grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, her grandfather Prince Baelon, and uncle Prince Daemon - her mother bared a breast and Rhaenyra silently fed, indignant and embarrassed even though it was normal. Well, it was normal for a baby, not a reborn witch (she had forgotten her age at this point; she only knew it was old ).
Once fed by her mother and burped by her father, she was wrapped in a cozy blanket and placed in a soft, warm crib. She turned her head, huffing at how long it took her, and stared at the warm, pulsating…egg(?) that was nestled beside her, sending off waves of wild magic. It was golden and scaled, so it was clearly some sort of reptile…but what? And why was it in her crib?
Rhaenyra stared at the egg and struggled to remove her pathetically weak arms from her swaddle blanket, almost panting with the effort once she had succeeded. She reached slowly for the egg, exhaling softly at the warmth that bloomed in her tiny fingertips when she touched it. It pulsated with some unknown magic, making her own dance wildly inside her. She stared, unblinking, as a crack appeared in the egg and it wobbled unsteadily.
A chunk of scales dropped from the egg, and a slim, golden head peeked out with a soft, confused chirp. The sound drew the attention of her nursemaid, a young woman, who gasped in delight and bolted to the door, hollering for someone to fetch the prince and princess, for Princess Rhaenyra’s dragon egg was hatching.
Rhaenyra gaped as the golden-yellow, mucusy dragon hatchling fought its way from the egg, flopping into the crib beside her. It straightened with an irritated grumble and shook its head, pausing when it noticed her; she fought the urge to hold her breath as the dragon used the claws on its wings and hind legs to crawl forward, nostrils flaring curiously.
The dragon loosed a sound that resembled a purring cat and nudged her cheek gently, inhaling her scent. Rhaenyra touched the dragon’s neck, inhaling sharply when warmth positively shot through her, spreading throughout her body. The dragon stood tall, preening almost, and Rhaenyra huffed softly. It was cute, she supposed, with a narrow, horse-like head and horns growing from the back of its skull. Molten green-gold eyes were deepset into its face, bone-like ridges protruding above.
The dragon shrieked, wings flaring, as the door burst open and Rhaenyra’s family piled into the room, all of them gaping at her and the dragon.
“By the gods,” her grandfather, Baelon, uttered reverently, even as her dragon growled warningly.
“It’s a she-dragon,” her young uncle, Daemon, said matter-of-factly. He was the bravest, approaching slowly to get a better look at the dragon hatchling. “Look, at the base of her tail. One bump.”
Rhaenyra blinked up at him, amused when he eyed her unsurely. He hadn't held her yet, all but fleeing when Aemma offered earlier. The she-dragon shuffled closer, looming protectively over her.
“The first cradle hatching in decades,” Viserys said proudly, puffed up like a peacock.
Aemma was beaming, but Rhaenyra was caught on what her father had said; was it usual for children of her new family to hatch dragons?!
***
The months passed slowly, but Rhaenyra and her dragon, named Syrax by her uncle Daemon, grew in leaps and bounds. She listened intently to her family, learning all she could about her new world, which she emphatically cursed Death for; really, a princess of an incestuous family who rode dragons and were the last of their race? It was just like death, to put her in this world, thinking it funny, when it wasn't - not entirely, at least.
She did love her new family, though. Her mother and father were almost suffocatingly protective, though the reason why was revealed when she was eight months old - she’d stunned her family by crawling at six months, sick of being lugged about, and walking a week ago. Apparently she was born dead, or her body was, and her soul being plonked into it revived her. Her parents had dubbed her their ‘little miracle’, and the common people called her the ‘Realm’s Delight.’
Rhaenyra was a daughter of the Targaryen family, who were the monarchs of a country called Westeros. Her family had come from Old Valyria, which was destroyed over a century ago by the Doom; but the Targaryen’s had been warned by Daenys the Dreamer through prophecy (really Death?!?) and survived; centuries later, Aegon Targaryen, first King of the Seven Kingdoms, and his two sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, conquered the petty, warring kingdoms. Now, it was almost ninety-eight years since the conquering, and after a civil war between Maegor the Cruel, Aegon’s son by Visenya, and Aegon’s grandson by he and Rhaenys’ son Aenys, Aegon the Uncrowned, House Targaryen was at peace and, despite the tragedies of her great-grandparents many children’s untimely deaths, prosperity.
Her grandfather, Baelon the Spring Prince, was her great-grandfather’s heir, which made her father his heir, which was a terrifying thought. But life was good, and Rhaenyra spent most of her time with her mother, father, uncle, or nursemaids; Syrax was her one constant companion, and she grew to love her spoiled, sweet dragon.
Her great-grandmother was gentle and sweet with her, though melancholy, likely thinking of the daughters she had lost over the years. Her great-grandfather, King Jaehaerys, was absent due to his duties but kind.
It was her grandfather, Baelon, who she adored the most. He told her of her grandmother, Alyssa, melancholic but loving as he spoke of his deceased sister-wife. She would sit on her knee and listen intently as he spoke, voice soothing and deep. Many of those times, her uncle Daemon would be with them, having brought her some priceless bauble.
Due to her miraculous survival, her family doted upon her and cherished her greatly; spoiling her and spending more time with her than was usual for royal families.
Her young life was good, her family loving and close, and Rhaenyra loved it. She always loved having a big, close knit family. Her first life stayed with her, a scar on her soul.
Then, as always, tragedy struck.
***
99 - 101 After Conquest
The first of her family to go was her great-aunt Gael, a simpleminded but sweet girl; she had fallen pregnant out of wedlock and decided to throw herself from a window, committing suicide, in 99 After Conquest. Barely seven moons later, her great-grandmother Alysanne passed away from natural causes on Dragonstone, having retired there after losing Gael. Her funeral was held on their ancestral island, and Rhaenyra couldn’t help but shed a few tears for her great-grandmother, who had always been kind to her.
The next to die was her grandfather, Baelon. It broke her heart, as she often sat on his knee as he regaled her with tales of her grandmother, his wife, Alyssa, whose eyes she had inherited; one emerald green and the other Valyrian purple. He also told her legendary tales of their kin, especially the conquest. She cried nearly uncontrollably at his funeral, curled in her mother’s arms. She’d adored her grand-father, and he had suddenly died of a burst belly, according to the maesters.
Things were once again up in the air when it came to the succession. Jaehaerys promptly overlooked his granddaughter, Rhaenyra’s cousin, Rhaenys as the potential future queen on account of her gender, which pissed a lot of people off; Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenys’ much older husband, and the Baratheon’s, Rhaenys’ maternal kin (he had disinherted Rhaenys so before, angering Queen Alysanne and estranging them once again) were the most furious.
Her grandfather called his son, her uncle Vaegon, to the capitol from the Citadel in Oldtown to confer, and several months later in 101 AC, a Great Council was called to Harrenhal where the lords of the realm would vote as to whom would inherit the throne upon Jaehaerys death.
Rhaenyra thought it was absolutely stupid. They lived in a feudal society where the king's word was law; Jaehaerys was a fool for allowing the lords that kind of power. It would incite rebellion against rulers in the future, boosting the lord's egos, giving them a choice where it should have been an internal matter.
In the end, it was between Viserys, her father, and cousin Rhaenys' seven year old son, Laenor Velaryon. The choice was clear, and her father won the vote twenty to one, if the maesters could be believed.
Rhaenyra was now the daughter to the King's heir, and because of that more expectations were piled on her young shoulders. A plethora of 'womanly' tutors were called to the capital, and she forced herself not to throw a tantrum; she was five years old, soon to be six, and children were expected to grow up far more quickly in feudal times.
Having lived previous lives before, Rhaenyra knew she was intelligent. She had "taught" herself to read young, and she had always had an ear for languages, so picking up High Valyrian was simple enough. Her intelligence had always impressed her family, but one member had no idea who she was, as they had yet to meet.
Rhaenyra had escaped her septa, a truly awful, pious woman, and ducked into the Red Keep's library, peering around for a book to keep her occupied until supper; mother was pregnant and on strict bed rest, father was with great-grandfather, and uncle Daemon was likely in the training yard, so it was up to her to entertain herself.
She paused abruptly and stared at the gray-robed man, brows furrowed. "You're my uncle Vaegon," she stated.
Vaegon turned and stared. "You are Princess Rhaenyra," he replied dryly, a little moue of distaste on his face. "Why are you not with your septas?"
Rhaenyra shrugged elegantly and turned to browse the shelves. " They're annoying and don't teach me anything substantial ," she said in fluent High Valyrian, in case the septa burst into the room and overheard her.
Vaegon stared, brows raised incredulously. " You speak High Valyrian ?"
" Of course ," she retorted, grabbing a volume on ancient Valyria off the shelf. " Uncle Daemon and Father have been teaching me before I could speak the common tongue. I also know Bastard Valyrian. "
Vaegon looked impressed. " Bit of a scholar, are you, princess ?"
" I enjoy learning, grand-uncle ," she replied sweetly.
"You can read?" He asked in common, an imperious brow raised.
She stared back, severely unimpressed. "I taught myself at three and a half, Uncle. I can count well beyond one thousand, do sums, multiples, and more. I am no airheaded maiden; I am a Princess of House Targaryen."
Vaegon smirked faintly. "Well, then. Perhaps you would like to prove me wrong?"
Rhaenyra grinned.
***
102 After Conquest
The family was amazed by Rhaenyra's ability to seemingly pull Vaegon out of his haughty, arrogant shell. She stopped taking lessons with the grandmaester, who she hated, and refused the womanly lessons with the septa after proving to King Jaehaerys she already knew how to sew and embroider by making him a new, flashy tunic.
Vaegon tested Rhaenyra on a plethora of subjects; from arithmetic, geography, the noble houses and their lords and words, problem solving with fake scenarios between feuding lords, languages, politics and many more. After several moons, he declared that she would have made a brilliant maester had she been born a man, stunning her mother and father. He then petitioned to remain in Kings Landing and become her personal tutor, which Jaehaerys approved.
Vaegon drew up a lesson plan, and Rhaenyra followed it religiously. Four times a week she would meet with her uncle for two hours for lessons, each one different. On the other days, she would attend Syrax - she had unfortunately been moved to the Dragonpit as she was too large for the Keep now - and train with her, or practice her sewing and embroidery, dancing, horse riding, hawking, and spend time with her mother and father.
Mother had, unfortunately, miscarried her baby and was utterly heartbroken. Father had all but fled in the face of the loss and grief, leaving Rhaenyra and uncle Daemon to cheer mother up, who very clearly appreciated it.
The years passed thusly, and Rhaenyra continued to stun the courtiers and nobles that visited. Her uncle Vaegon proudly preached to all who would listen that she was a genius, a true prodigy, and father would boast of her, too.
Mother kept mostly to her rooms, inundated with miscarriages and two stillbirths. Rhaenyra tried to heal her, to encourage her body to accept the babes, but nothing worked. It was almost as though something was working against her magic.
Uncle Daemon mostly remained in Kings Landing despite having a wife in the Vale. He loathed her, apparently, having been forced by Queen Alysanne to marry her at six and ten; Rhea Royce had been twenty and one. He had a reputation of that of a Rogue, though she knew it was mostly false. He would often fly off on his dragon, Caraxes, and return with lavish gifts for her.
In 103AC, King Jaehaerys passed away from old age. He was the longest ruling Targaryen monarch, having sat the throne for fifty-five years, and was moured greatly. In his later years, Rhaenyra had read to him as he lay in his sickbed, calling her Alyssa and weeping. She had been shocked to find Alicent Hightower, daughter of the Hand, in his rooms several times; she did not like the young woman's father, who made her skin crawl - that dislike furthered to his daughter, too, especially the way she spoke to Rhaenyra as though she were a simpleton, all sickly sweet and false.
Fathers coronation was lavish and appropriately over the top for a new king, lords and ladies flocking to the capitol to pay homage to their new monarch. Rhaenyra was put in an itchy dress and paraded about obnoxiously.
Several moons later, a tourney was held in Maidenpool to celebrate her fathers ascension. She attended with her mother and father, Uncle Daemon flying above their procession on the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes.
The tourney went on for a week, and Rhaenyra tired of it greatly. She only livened when Uncle Daemon was knocked from his horse by a common born lordling, Criston Cole; the man had used underhanded tactics, and it angered her.
Father named him to the Kingsguard and her sword shield, which disgruntled her immensely. There was something about Criston Cole that made her shudder.
They returned to the capitol after the tourney, and Rhaenyra gladly threw herself back into her studies. During her next training session with Syrax, she was surprised to see Caraxes leaving the capitol and panicked; where was Daemon going? He was her closest confidant in the capitol, why was he leaving?
Determined, Rhaenyra mounted Syrax, ignoring the keeper's worried shouts, and took to the skies for the first time, all of seven years old. She managed to catch up to Daemon, who looked both proud and terrified, and was guided back to the ground.
"Where are you going?" She demanded once they'd landed clumsily, Syrax preening at the accomplishment.
Daemon hugged her tightly. " Your father is sending me away ," he said, clearly reluctant.
" He banished you?! " She demanded, angry and upset.
Daemon tucked a strand of her windswept hair behind her ear, smiling faintly. " I'll be back, my little dragon. I promise. I'll bring you something."
She wasn't happy, but Rhaenyra also knew that Daemon couldn't disobey the king. So she hugged him tightly and made him promise to come home soon. He grinned and agreed, kissing her forehead, before taking off once again.
After that, nothing stopped Rhaenyra from flying whenever given the chance.
***
112 After Conquest
Rhaenyra whooped as Syrax dove beneath the clouds, releasing a loud, happy roar. She shifted in the saddle attached to her she-dragon's back, beaming as they freefalled for several heart-stopping moments before Syrax's huge, pale yellow wings snapped open and they soared up and over the Red Keep.
A shadow fell over them, and Syrax loosed a happy trill. Rhaenyra grinned and looked up, shaking her head at the sheer size of her dearest friends' mount. Vhagar was the oldest dragon in Westeros, and the largest; the last of the Conquerors dragons. Syrax was larger than normal for her age due to Rhaenyra's magic, but Vhagar was positively gargantuan.
The old girl loosed a deep, bone-shuddering roar and pumped her wings, blotting out half of Flea Bottom below. She could faintly hear Laena's delighted laughter over the wind in her ears and the echo of Vhagar's roar.
" C'mon, girl ," Rhaenyra said, hunkering in the saddle. " Let's show the old girl how fast you are ."
Syrax roared in delighted agreement and flapped her wings, shooting forward and out of Vhagar's shadow. They caught a current and swooped upward, Rhaenyra glancing over at Laena, who was cackling madly and waving. She waved back before focusing on returning to the Dragonpit.
Vhagar was far too large for the Pit these days, so she nested outside the city walls or up the coast; the old girl always knew when Laena wanted her and appeared when needed.
Syrax circled the Dragonpit and lowered her hind legs towards the open yard where the dragons landed. She landed smoothly, lowering herself to the ground. Rhaenyra unbuckled herself from the saddle and slid off the dragon's back, her riding boots kicking up dust and dirt.
"Good girl," she cooed, stroking Syrax's long neck as she approached her head, which was nearly twice the size of a carriage; her magic truly had boosted Syrax's growing rate. "Brilliant flying, my girl. Listen to the keepers, okay? They'll give you a juicy goat."
Syrax crooned happily and nudged her chest, melting as Rhaenyra scratched her jaw and kissed her nose. The keepers approached, amused and, as always, in awe of their close bond. " Thank you ," she said, nodding to them with a grin.
" It's our pleasure, princess ," the head keeper said, bowing his head.
Rhaenyra grinned and watched as Syrax was led into the Pit proper. She turned and made her way to her horse, which was being held by Ser Harrold, the guard assigned to her today.
"Good flight, princess?" He asked, smiling fondly.
"As always, good ser. Syrax is getting faster," she replied, mounting her palomino mare. She shot Ser Harrold a look, snorting. "You needn't look so relieved."
"I'll always be relieved when you return safely, my princess," he said, nudging his horse into movement. "It saves my head."
Rhaenyra cackled, her mare falling into step with Ser Harrold's. "Laena shall be returning from the north today, ser. Has the Small Council meeting begun yet?"
Swr Harrold looked amused. "Yes, Princess."
Rhaenyra cursed, digging her heels unto her mare's flanks. "I'll see you back at the Keep, ser!" She shouted as her horse took off like a shot, people jumping out of her way. She waved and shouted thank you's as she went, the smallfolk laughing and waving back; she had cultivated a good relationship with the common folk of the city, continuing the Good Queen Alysanne's work with women and children by cleaning up the orphanages and whore houses, opening food banks to ensure less thievery and more work for men and women both.
It didn't take her long to return back from the Dragonpit, and she swiftly dismounted her mare in the courtyard and bolted through the castle, servants smiling at the familiar sight of their princess rushing about, late for something as was the norm.
Once in her rooms, she hurriedly wiped the scent of dragon from herself and changed into a gown of gold with red embroidery over the skirts and bodice. She had one of her ladies, Celia Strong, help with her hair and, once presentable, hurried through the Keep to her mother's rooms; she lay on a chaise fanning herself, extremely pregnant.
"Mother," she panted, all but collapsing into a chair.
Aemma Arryn Targaryen looked greatly amused. "How was your flight?"
Rhaenyra smiled sheepishly. "A little longer than expected, mother. How do you feel?"
"Tired and ready for the babe to come," Mother replied, smiling faintly. "And you? How was your flight with Laena?"
"It was brilliant, as usual." She stood and kissed her mother's cheek. "I shall visit after the meeting. I love you!"
Mother laughed. "I love you, my dear miracle."
Rhaenyra beamed and hurried from her mother's rooms, swiftly making her way to the Small Council chambers. She ducked inside, breathing a sigh of relief when she noted that her father and councilors had just sat down.
She strode to her fathers side and kissed his cheek. "Good morn, father. My lords. I was just visiting Mother."
Father looked amused. " On dragon's back? " He asked quietly.
Rhaenyra smiled innocently and went to the side table to grab a pitcher of Dornish Red. She poured wine for all gathered bar Lord Corlys and the Grandmaester and returned to her fathers side. While being a cupbearer was demeaning and she'd asked several times for other duties as princess, it did allow her to hear everything the small council spoke off.
Well, what the lords suggested and Otto Hightower refused and her father dismissed if Otto deemed it unimportant. Today, however, they were discussing the upcoming tourney for the babe mother was carrying; a son, father insisted. His heir, finally.
Rhaenyra stifled the urge to roll her eyes. High lords were so concerned about cocks it was exhausting. Father had a perfectly good male heir in uncle Daemon, but Otto had insisted he would be Maegor the Cruel reborn.
Rhaenyra had happily cursed him with upset bowels for several weeks for that, thanking Death she still had her magic to do so.
Mother insisted Rhaenyra should be the heir, but King Jaehaerys had set a precedent for male primogeniture when he had overlooked Cousin Rhaenys and her son, Laenor, as heir.
"My lords," Lord Corlys began, capturing Rhaenyra's attention. "The alliance between the Free Cities has begun styling itself the Triarchy, amassing on Bloodstone, and are currently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation."
Rhaenyra's heart dropped, and she glanced between father and Otto; the latter looked unaffected. Father smiled slightly. "That sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys."
Rhaenyra stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Barely. Lord Corlys continued. "The leader of this Triarchy is calling himself the Prince Admiral; Cragas Drahar has earned himself the epithet 'Crabfeeder' for how he deals with these pirates, staking them to the beaches for the crabs to feed on."
Rhaenyra grimaced slightly. That was gross.
"Are we meant to weep for dead pirates?" Father asked, completely missing Lord Corlys' point. She loved her father, she did; but he was far too desperate to keep the peace his grandfather had created after Maegor's reign of tyranny.
Lord Corlys sat back down, a displeased frown on his face. Lord Beesbury, whom she truly liked, began nattering on about Daemon not being at the meeting to report on the funds he had used and needed for the City Watch.
Father finished the man's complaining swiftly, Lord Corlys piping up again, this time more insistently. "I would urge you not allow the Triarchy this latitude in the Stepstones, your grace; if those shipping lanes fall, it will beggar-"
"The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys," Ser Otto interrupted quite loudly, making Rhaenyra stiffen. She truly hated him. "And shall take it under advisement. Shall we discuss the heirs tournament, your grace?"
Rhaenyra approached Lord Corlys and poured wine while her father and Otto were distracted, ignoring his bemused frown. " If this Triarchy is truly the danger you foresee, my lord, I shall ensure your concerns are heard ," she murmured swiftly in High Valyrian.
Lord Corlys' lips twitched. " Thank you, princess ."
Rhaenyra smiled and returned to the side table to refill her carafe, ignoring the burning stare she felt on her back.
***
Rhaenyra met with Laena after the small council meeting, her cousin having bathed off the smell of dragons and dressed in Velaryon colors, her pale hair pulled back at the temples. They made their way to the library, where Uncle Vaegon awaited them for their daily lessons.
"Princess, Lady Laena," he greeted, beckoning them closer.
"Uncle, what do you know of the Free Cities of Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr?" Rhaenyra asked, taking a seat across from him.
His brows furrowed. "Why do you wish to know?"
"They have allied and are working towards claiming the Stepstones," Rhaenyra explained, lips pursed. "Lord Corlys is concerned for our shipping lanes."
"As he should be," Vaegon said firmly, nodding. "If those lanes are compromised, if this Triarchy digs in and builds fortifications, they could tax passage that would beggar our merchants and cause foreign merchants to steer clear of our northernmost ports like Kings Landing and Duskendale. Or merely destroy the merchant ships."
Rhaenyra glanced at Laena, whose brows were pinched with concern. "Ser Otto dismissed Lord Corlys' concerns."
Vaegon snorted. "Of course he did. The Oldtown port would not be completely ruined. I have never liked that man."
"Oh, I know," she said, fondly remembering Vaegon and Daemon's complaints and rants over the years, both of them feeding off one another on several occasions.
Laena chuckled. "Will you speak to your father, Nyra?"
"Yes, I believe I shall," Rhaenyra said standing.
The library door opened, Ser Harrold poking his head inside. "Princess. My apologies, but Prince Daemon has returned and wishes to see you."
Rhaenyra beamed and hurried to the door, throwing a half-hearted goodbye to her cousin and uncle over her shoulder. She heard Laena's knowing cackle and fought the urge to blush; her cousin wasn't the only person to know how smitten she was with her uncle Daemon; her mother often teased her, too. It was hard not to be. He was a Rogue with a soft spot for his family only (especially her). He helped the smallfolk, too, by ensuring rapists were gelded, thieves punished (secretly helping their families), and children removed from the streets into orphanages or even the Keep's kitchens.
Not to mention how devastatingly, roguishly handsome he was.
Rhaenyra entered the throne room with Ser Harrold, her guard cursing when they spotted Daemon lounging indolently on the throne. She assured the fretting guard she would take care of it, and he reluctantly left and shut the door.
" That's my father's seat," she called, fighting a smile.
Daemon leaned forward, a cheeky smirk on his face. "It could very well be mine one day, my little dragon ."
" Not if my mother carries a son," she replied, a burst of nerves exploding in her chest. She wanted her sibling to live; she had always wanted a brother or sister.
" Do you pray for one to be rid of me ?" He asked, amused, as he stalked down the treacherous steps of the Iron Throne.
" Always ," she joked, meeting him in the middle of the throne room. She had to tip her head back to meet his lilac gaze.
Daemon had changed since he'd been away, having left a year ago. His hair was longer, half pulled back in a tie and the typical Targaryen white-blond. He smiled down at her, handsome as ever. "I bought you something," he said, holding his hand up.
Rhaenyra looked down and smiled at the necklace dangling from his fingers. She reached for it, lips parting. "Is this Valyrian Steel?"
"Mm-hm," he said, snatching the jewelry back before she could touch it. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. His smirk softened. "Turn around."
She did so, unclasping the simple gold chain she wore and sweeping her hair out of the way. Daemon looped the necklace around her throat and clasped it, fingers brushing against her nape. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and she suppressed a shiver.
"Now we both have a piece of our ancestry," he murmured, and she turned to beam at him. " Beautiful ."
"Thank you, uncle," she said, throwing her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. " I missed you ."
He wrapped his arms around her waist. " And I, you, little dragon ."
***
The morning of the tourney began with Rhaenyra and Laena being awoken by Rhaenys, who smiled fondly at them tangled together in Rhaenyra's bed; she had grown closer with her cousin, who she called aunt, when she had begged her parents for friends several years ago. Laena was made her lady-in-waiting despite being older, and they had been inseparable ever since.
The rest of her ladies - Celia and Alina Strong, Jaena Celtigar, Willa Manderly, Ophelia Tully, her second cousin (on her mother's side) Amelia Tyrell, and Cassandra Baratheon - piled into the room to help her dress and dress themselves, Rhaenys assisting with hair when needed.
Rhaenyra had chosen a Targaryen red brocade dress with gold and black embroidery and jewels sewed along the collar and sleeves. She wore the Valyrian Steel necklace Daemon had given her, which matched the jewels on her gown, and had Rhaenys braid her hair into a crown and pinned with dragonglass and ruby encrusted pins.
Laena wore a silver and teal silk gown, the Velaryon colors, in a similar style with her hair loose save for braids at her temples that were pinned back.
Once they and her ladies were dressed and fed they made their way to the tourney grounds, lords and ladies stopping to greet them.
When they finally arrived, she and Laena were - as usual - quite late. Father had already begun his speech from the royal box, pausing with an amused smile as she and Laena hurried to their seats, before continuing.
Mother had begun her labors late last eve, and Rhaenyra wasn't allowed in despite begging father to allow her. She was anxious about the whole thing because of how many babes mother had lost, but no matter how many times she had tried she was sent away.
The tourney began, and Rhaenyra clapped politely despite not being the biggest fan of tourneys; they were a waste of time and coin, men beating each other bloody or killing one another for fun. It was, as Hermione would have said, barbaric.
Rhaenyra did perk up when Daemon trotted out on a pure black destrier wearing equally as black scaled armor with a dragonhead helmet. She applauded loudly, beaming, and stifled a snort when he chose to ride against Gwayne Hightower, Ser Otto's son.
She peered back at the Hightowers; both Ser Otto and his nine and ten year old daughter were glaring with pinched expressions.
"Princess!"
She turned back to face the tourney ground, standing when Daemon approached the royal box. "Uncle?" She queried, smiling.
"Might I have the favor of the Realm's Delight and Miracle of House Targaryen?" Daemon called, smirking roguishly.
Rhaenyra beamed and undid the red ribbon on her wrist, happily tying it around Daemon's lance. "Good luck, uncle," she called, the crowd cheering wildly.
"I need it not, Princess, with your favor," he replied, ever quick of wit.
Rhaenyra retook her seat, watching eagerly as Daemon and Ser Gwayne rode and clashed and rode again, fresh lances handed to one another. She bit her lip, anxious, as they rode a third time. On the fourth, Daemon's lance struck true and unhorsed Gwayne, who crashed to the ground.
Rhaenyra clapped loudly, beaming. She was so distracted by Daemon's win, she didn't notice her father leaving with a look of concern on his face.
Daemon rode again, this time against Ser Criston Cole, her former sworn shield. She had asked for Ser Harrold back years ago, complaining that Ser Criston "looked at her funny." Her mother had ordered her father to reinstate Ser Harrold immediately.
Daemon utterly thrashed him, making Rhaenyra snort into her hand. Laena smacked her arm gently, though she, too, was giggling.
"Princess."
She turned, frowning at Ser Harrold. Why was he so pale? "What is it, my lord?" She asked, fear crawling up her throat.
"It's the queen."
Rhaenyra was up and bolting from the box, neatly tripping down the stairs in her haste. She grabbed a horse, ignoring the knight protesting that it was his, and ripped her dress as she mounted. She kicked its flanks, the warhorse shooting off towards the Red Keep.
She was too late.
***
Rhaenyra stared at the bloody mess left behind. Her mother's bed was drenched with blood and fluids, so much so that it dripped off the sides onto the floor. She had collapsed upon seeing the carnage, and no matter how hard her mother's handmaid tried, she wouldn't move.
"Please, princess," Melina begged tearfully.
"I'll take it from here."
Strong arms picked her up, and she curled into Daemon's chest as he carried her from her mother's rooms. From her deathbed, where her father had ordered her butchering.
Rhaenyra burst into her mother's rooms and screamed at the sight that met her within; her mother, naked and spread eagle on the bed, her abdomen ripped open like a pig's ready for its organs to be removed. Vacant purple eyes stared at the ceiling, dried tears on her face.
She lurched toward the bed, but hands grabbed her. She kicked and screamed and fought, spitting insults she wouldn't remember at the maester, who stammered excuses that the king allowed this.
Her ire turned to her father, who wept over her mother's corpse as though he had the right to do so when he had ordered her murder. She yelled and screamed at him in High Valyrian, heaving sobs making her incomprehensible.
Rhaenyra collapsed to the floor, wailing her grief and rage into her hands. Movement exploded, the maester and midwives removing her mother's body and palming her new sibling off to a wetnurse. Her father went to grip her shoulder, but she lurched away.
"Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!" She screamed, voice breaking.
He flinched and fled, like a coward.
Daemon carried her to her rooms and had Laena and Rhaenys help her into a nightgown, his back turned. Once she was changed, she stared at the wall and barely flinched when Daemon began letting her hair down, pins scraping her scalp.
" He killed her ," she mumbled, a wave of fresh tears streaming down her face. " My father killed my mother."
Daemon finished undoing her braids and tucked her into her bed, laying beside her on top of the blankets. " I'm so sorry, my little dragon ," he whispered, voice thick.
She looked at him, at the tears in his eyes, and sobbed. " I hate him, Uncle. I hate him so much. "
Daemon held her as she wept all night, not sleeping a wink.
***
Daemon left before dawn, not wanting any rumors to spread. He kissed her brow and begged her to get some sleep before slipping out through the secret passages.
Rhaenyra lay there, eyes and throat raw from crying, feeling nothing but grief filled rage. Her father had ordered her mother butchered like a common animal; his queen and supposed love of his life .
She truly hated him, at that moment.
The door opened and Rhaenyra listlessly turned her head to see who it was. Laena padded across the floor and climbed into her bed, curling around her without a word.
Rhaenyra fell into a fitful sleep and woke barely two hours later, Rhaenys now in her rooms. She sat on the chaise by her hearth, a tray of simple, light foods on the low table. She reluctantly let Laena help her out of bed and onto the chaise.
Rhaenys looked livid, her own eyes red-rimmed. She pulled Rhaenyra into her arms and held her close. " I have brought an idol of Balerion ." The Valyrian God of the Dead and Underworld. " Do you wish to pray?"
Rhaenyra, while not overly religious, respected the Valyrian gods. She nodded, and Laena set up the idol with black candles around the base. They gave an offering of raw meat and prayed for Balerion to take Aemma Arryn Targaryen into his realm and give her peace in the afterlife.
"What happened while I slept?" She asked hoarsely, sipping honeyed tea.
Rhaenys pursed her lips. "Your brother, Baelon, did not live. I am sorry, Rhaenyra."
She swallowed. "My father butchered my mother for naught."
Rhaenys grasped her hand, offering silent support.
The next two days passed far too swiftly, and Rhaenys helped organize mother and Baelon's funeral. It was to take place by the coast outside of the city.
It arrived too soon.
Rhaenyra stood between Laena and Rhaenys and stared at her mother and brothers funeral pyre, hands trembling. Mourners clustered around the pyre a safe distance away, all garbed in black.
Rhaenyra wore her mother's mourning gown, to be closer to her. A strip of a blanket mother had made for Baelon was braided into her hair.
Daemon had ignored Viserys and stood at her back protectively, Rhaenys and Laena either side of her in solidarity. He had a hand on her shoulder to steady her, to led her his strength.
Syrax, her beautiful golden lady who could feel her pain and grief, waited on the hill next to mother and Baelon's unlit pyre. She inhaled deeply and swallowed, stepping forward.
She looked up at Syrax, who loosed a soft, sad croon. " Dracarys!" She called, voice strong despite her grief.
Syrax crawled down the hill and paused at the base, huge head turning towards Aemma and Baelon. Her maw opened and a gout of golden flames burst from her throat, lighting the pyre immediately. Once lit, Syrax raised her head and loosed a grief filled shriek, making many of the mourners flinch at the piercing sound.
Rhaenyra watched as her mother and brothers bodies burned, feeling as though all the warmth in the world left with them.
***
That night, Rhaenyra sneaked from the Keep, disillusioned and cloaked to hide her identity. Daemon had left the Keep after the extremely awkward and silent family supper in which none of them truly ate much. Likely he wished to drink himself into a stupor to drown his grief; she loved him, but Daemon truly was emotionally constipated.
She slipped through the alleys and streets, no one paying her any attention, until she came to Daemon's usual haunt on the Street of Silk. She ducked inside, dropping her hood and disillusionment charm. People abruptly paused and stared, surprised, before several of the ladies approached and greeted her softly, offering their condolences for her mother; many embraced her warmly and squeezed her hand.
The proprietor, an older woman called Sally, linked her arm with Rhaenyra's and led her toward Daemon, who stared moodily into his wine, looking rather bored.
Rhaenyra, surprisingly, felt the urge to laugh when her uncle's Gold Cloaks recognised her and hastily covered their swiftly wilting cocks up, drawing Daemon's attention.
He stared at her, brows raised. " What are you doing here? " He asked, nodding to Sally.
" I need a drink and to get the fuck out of the Keep ," she replied tersely, ignoring the astonished stares sent her way; she wasn't worried. She charmed the building so any who left wouldn't be able to talk about her presence. They'd simply remember something more important and forget.
Daemon's lips quirked and he handed her his cup. She accepted it and downed the contents in three huge swallows. She lowered the cup and wiped her mouth. " Another ?"
Daemon jerked his chin and a pale haired woman slinked over, wearing a scrap of a dress. "My niece shall have another," he said firmly.
Rhaenyra knew the woman. She was called the White Worm, or Mysaria. She was her uncle's Lyseni whore. She smiled her court smile at the woman, entirely fake but sickly sweet, and browsed her surface thoughts as their eyes met.
A worm indeed , Rhaenyra thought, willing to sell information to the highest bidder, which just so happens to be Otto fucking Hightower.
The Worm poured her another cup of strongwine, and Rhaenyra downed half. Daemon glanced at her, worry in his gaze, but she smiled reassuringly. " I can handle my wine, Uncle, I assure you." She noted the Worm listening from her peripheral. " I shall have this and no more."
"Good," he said, kissing her brow.
A man approached, looking apologetic, with a Gold Cloak hanging from his shoulders. "My condolences, my princess," he said, bowing.
She smiled sadly. "My thanks, ser…?"
"Endrew, princess. Endrew Bywater," he said, Flea Bottom accent thick.
"My thanks, Ser Endrew," she said, nodding. He smiled, bowed, and shuffled away.
Daemon stood, and one of his Cloaks shouted for silence. It was swiftly obeyed. "The gods give, and the gods take away. To my beloved good-sister, Queen Aemma Targaryen and my nephew, Baelon Targaryen; the heir for a day."
To anyone else, the epithet would seem insensitive, but to Rhaenyra, she could hear the genuine grief and respect in Daemon's voice. He wished to ensure the Targaryen legacy, which was hard to do with three Targaryens. The loss of Aemma and Baelon was a blow, not just for their house, but to his heart.
She stood and raised her own cup. "To Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon, the heir for a day!"
***
Rhaenyra woke with a dry mouth and a truly horrendous headache. She whimpered and rolled over, reaching blindly for her bedside cabinet, yanking the drawer open. She fished about and grabbed one of the phials inside, lifting her head to squint blearily at it to make sure it was the right one before ripping the cork out with her teeth and downing it.
The potion worked instantly, and she sighed happily as the throbbing in her head and her nausea went away. She dumped the empty phial back into the drawer and rolled onto her back, sighing loudly. She vaguely remembered Daemon helping her back to the Keep, both of them beyond drunk, and her saying good night before collapsing into bed.
Rhaenyra hauled herself out of bed and shrugged a robe on. She padded over to her vanity and sat down, grimacing at her reflection. She looked horrible, face puffy from days of crying and her hair a tangled mess.
The door opened, a servant shuffling in with a tray of breakfast. She smiled and turned. "Good morn, Eve."
"Good morn, princess," Eve replied kindly, placing her breakfast on the low table in front of the hearth. "His grace wishes to see you after you break your fast and dress."
Rhaenyra sighed, suddenly exhausted again. But she swiftly ate the fresh fruit and toast before fixing her hair and lessening her puffiness with a cool, damp cloth. She dressed in a three quarter sleeve gold dress with red embroidery all over it, chiffon bell sleeves flowing from her elbows. Eve did her hair, brushing oil into it until it shone and pulling pieces of hair at her temples back into a braid.
Rhaenyra put her rings and Valyrian Steel necklace on before exiting her rooms, reluctantly heading for her father's.
Swr Harrold was on duty and smiled sadly at her before announcing her and opening the door. She laced her hands behind her back and stepped inside, head held high. "You wished to see me, your grace?"
The king looked horrible, pale and shaky, seated next to his model of Old Valyria. He winced at her tone, sighing softly as he fiddled with a familiar gold ring in his hands. "Daemon has been exiled," he announced.
Rhaenyra bit back the urge to scream. "Why?" She asked, voice colder than the Lands of Always Winter.
"He was overheard making insensitive remarks and celebrating his own rise with your brother's death." Her father rose to his feet and beckoned her. She reluctantly followed, anger bubbling in her gut as they made their way through the Keep to where Balerion the Dread's skull was kept.
She lingered behind as he approached his former mounts skull, hovering his hands over the flickering candles. She swallowed her impatience and stepped forward. "Father?"
"Balerion was the last creature to see Valyria before the Doom," he began, glancing back at her.
"Are we here for a history lesson?" She asked, heavily sarcastic.
Father sighed, ignoring her. "He saw its greatness and its flaws. And it was flawed, as any civilisation, any person, is. When you look at the dragons, what do you see?"
Rhaenyra looked at the skull, idly wondering just how large Balerion had been at the time of his death, then back to her father. "Why? Is this truly what you wish to talk about? Not mother-"
"Tell me," he interrupted, standing before her. "It's important."
She inhaled deeply and nodded, glancing away. "I suppose I see us," she said, tilting her head.
"Tell me," Father insisted.
"Everyone likens Targaryens to Gods." She huffed a sardonic laugh and strode towards Balerion's skull. "They say we are above normal men. But they say that only because of our dragons. Without them, we are as ordinary as anyone else."
Father nodded slowly, a pleased smile on his face. "The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion," he said, turning to stare at his dragon's skull. "They are a power men should never have trifled with. If we do not heed this, it shall lead to our Doom just as it did Valyria. A Targaryen must understand this to be king…or queen."
Rhaenyra looked at father, eyes wide. "What?"
"I am sorry, Rhaenyra," he said, voice breaking. "I have wasted the years since you were born…killed your mother…wanting for a son." Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, staring at father as he approached and hesitantly grasped her shoulders. She could feel his hands shaking. "You are the very best of your mother. And I know, as she did, that you could be a great ruling queen."
"Daemon is your heir," she said, tears pricking her eyes.
"Daemon was not made to wear a crown, but I believe that you were," he said quietly, earnestly. "This is no trivial gesture, Rhaenyra. A dragon's saddle is one thing. But the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm."
Rhaenyra exhaled shakily, not truly believing that this was happening. She swallowed with difficulty around the lump in her throat and nodded, stilling when her father spoke once again. She looked at him, eyes wide.
"Our histories say that Aegon Targaryen looked westwards over Blackwater Bay and saw a rich and fertile land ripe for the taking, and that led him to Conquest, but this is not so," Father said, looking grave and more serious than she had ever seen. "His desire began with a dream. A dream in which foresaw the end of the world of men, much like Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria. 'Tis to begin with a terrible winter gusting from the far north. Whatever Aegon saw in those winds will destroy the world utterly. He called this prophecy the "Song of Ice and Fire.""
Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, gooseflesh spreading over her elite body. A sense of foreboding filled her, as though some great, malevolent darkness was looming over her, preparing to pounce.
"This prophecy has been handed down from king to heir since Aegon's time. For the world of men to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne…and a Stark must always be in Winterfell."
Her lips parted in shock. "That's why Torrhen knelt."
Father nodded. "Yes. The Northmen have their own legends of this Great Winter. They call it "The Long Night.""
***
Rhaenyra stared at her reflection as Rhaenys twisted her braids into a crown around her head. Her heart thundered in her chest, beyond nervous for the ceremony this morning. All the High Lords of the realm were converging on the capital to swear fealty to her as the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne.
Her ladies had been more excited than she when she told them, all of them gushing about how great a queen she would be, Laena slipping into High Valyrian during her excited ranting.
Rhaenyra had spent the past two moons in shock, trying to wrap her head around her fathers abrupt change of heart and Aegon I's prophecy about the end of the world . Was it true? Daenys' prophesy had come true, Valyria's Fourteen volcanoes erupting twelve years after the Targaryen's fled.
Rhaenyra met Rhaenys' gaze in the mirror. " Are you angry, that I have been named heir when you were overlooked ?"
Rhaenys' expression softened. " Of course not. I have long since overcome any grievance I had with being disinherited, Rhaenyra. I hold no blame for you, my darling girl, I swear it. You will make a marvelous queen."
Rhaenyra smiled, touched. " Thank you, aunt Rhaenys ."
Rhaenys smiled and slid one last pin into her hair. She squeezed her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her cheek. " A true Valyrian princess. Beautiful."
Her gown was ceremonial and made of black silk, with a cloak stitched with the Targaryen sigil to go over the top. A headdress was placed in her hair and pinned in place. Rings were slipped onto her fingers, and Daemon's necklace removed for the ceremonial heirs chain to take its place.
Once she was dressed and deemed ready, she was escorted to the throne room by Ser Harrold, whose eyes shone with pride, and Ser Erryk, who bowed deeply and respectfully. They flanked behind her, shoulders thrown back with pride at escorting the new crown princess - the first crown princess.
The throne room was packed to the rafters with high lords and their ladies. She strode confidently down the center aisle, head held high. She spied several faces she recognised; aunt Amanda Tyrell, her mother's half-sister, her smile positively blinding; cousin Lady Jeyne Arryn, ruling Lady of the Vale, a pleased look in her doe brown eyes; Lord Corlys, his lips curved into a smile; Lord Beesbury, a wide grin on his face; Uncle Vaegon, a satisfied look in his eyes, though his expression remained neutral.
She paused at the base of the throne and curtseyed to her father. He stood and descended the steps of the throne, remaining on the last one, Blackfyre - their ancestral family sword - in hand.
Rhaenyra turned back around and faced the lords of Westeros, heart nearly leaping from her chest as Mellos ordered the first lord, Corlys Velaryon, forward to swear fealty. He did so, kneeling before her and saying the vows the other lords came forth to repeat.
"I, Lord so and so, Lord of wherever, vow to be faithful to King Viserys and his chosen heir, the Princess Rhaenyra; I pledge fealty to them, I vow to defend them against enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods, and the new."
Once they had finished - there were a lot of lords in westeros - Rhaenyra's feet ached and she was desperate to sit, but she didn't let it show. Maeater Mellos looped the chain of the heir around her throat and stepped back, bowing. She turned and faced father, bowing her head respectfully.
He nodded back, a proud gleam in his eyes. "I, Viserys Targaryen, First of my Name, King of the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne!"
Rhaenyra offered a small, shaky smile and turned to face the lords; they bowed their heads respectfully, and she scanned them all closely, scrutinizing all who may betray her.
She knew it wouldn't be an easy transition. Many of the more traditional lords would chafe against their future ruler being a queen, but Rhaenyra would answer any treason with fire and blood.