Chapter Text
Rhaenyra was never meant to ascend the Iron Throne, she was neither born nor prepared for it.
All the years of her childhood and eventual girlhood were spent watching her dearest mother toil with the burden of carrying child after child, losing child after child, burying dead children, all in a futile attempt to birth the son her father wanted.
The son who would be his heir.
She never considered it, never imagined herself on the throne created by the fallen enemies of her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror.
She always knew that even if her mother failed to bring forth an heir, her uncle would be next in line.
Her uncle, Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince and rider of Caraxes, the man that every person in the realm loathed with their very being or adored to the moon and back, because just like everything else in her uncle’s life, there was no middle ground, there were only extremes.
Imagine her surprise then, when at the tender age of four-and-ten, her father chose to name her heir. She was frightened, certainly. But it was her duty, and as she later came to learn, like everything worthy in this life, she had to earn her inheritance.
She wouldn’t have fought her father’s decision had he named her brother the heir in favour of her. After all, the precedent was clear: the Seven Kingdoms were to be ruled by a male monarch, no matter how they presented.
But her father remained firm in his decisions and a decade passed.
Before she knew it, she had four siblings who shared her blood, four siblings she hadn’t a relationship with because their mother would much rather poison them against her, filling them to the brim with fearful promises of how she would eliminate her own siblings to cut off any living challenge to her succession.
Alicent was right in one respect. Rhaenyra always knew the knives would come out and her succession would be challenged, as Princess Rhaenys had once foretold. The lords who swore oaths to her were now either too old or too dead, and at the time they had sworn fealty to her, a trueborn son named Aegon Targaryen had yet to exist.
“Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.”
It would be too late to create a new order once she became queen, she had to do something now.
Therefore she prepared, simply because there was aught else to do in the years leading up to this moment.
Firstly, she took her rightful place as the Princess of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of the Heir to the Iron Throne.
Secondly, she gathered as many allies as she could, reaffirming the loyalty of Lords both paramount and minor once they took their seats after their fathers.
Thirdly, she took her uncle to husband; as much as she had cherished the platonic love shared with Laenor, she needed a strong consort by her side, someone who would stand by her, someone who wasn’t afraid to spill blood on her behalf.
Finally, by making use of the wild dragons on the Dragonmount, which were currently her greatest asset, she gained two additional dragons in combination to the beasts that were currently bonded to her immediate family.
Seasmoke and Sheepstealer.
“Dreams didn’t make us kings, dragons did,” her husband had reminded her, on more occasion than one.
She could not take credit for this ambitious scheme, for it rightfully belonged to her son and heir Jacaerys, who had spent countless days vetting the common folk who carried Valyrian blood in their veins, and choosing the two souls who proved themselves most leal to her cause.
Two Dragonseeds who were ready to give their lives for their princess and future queen. Addam of Hull and Nettles.
Admittedly, despite the disastrous event that was the dinner her whole family had shared in Kings Landing, Rhaenyra had hoped that everything would be all right, that despite all that had passed between them, Alicent would accept her as her queen when the time came.
She had more than enough reason to believe so.
“I raise my cup to you and to your house, you will make a fine queen.”
It was that toast combined with the tender moment they shared, the touch Alicent had granted her, that smile.
That damned smile.
It was something she couldn’t stop thinking about, not even now, as she stood by the Painted Table, listening to her husband’s plans while caressing her pregnant belly.
As wretched as it sounded, the news of her father’s demise was something she had learned to expect. For all she might wish that her only parent should live a long life, Rhaenyra knew Viserys’ days were numbered, seeing for herself how grave his illness had become during that final, fateful visit.
The news of the usurpation was also expected; her husband had conditioned her all those years they spent married, nurturing their family alongside the political scheming.
Expected it might be on both counts, the news still took a toll, and for a moment she thought she might lose the babe – but Daemon was there as always, holding her hand, fighting for her cause.
“We cut off the west, surround Kings Landing with the dragons, and we can have every green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”
Rhaenyra nodded, leaning over the table and looking at the pawns with determination, knowing full well that it was time for her to rise and prove to all why her father had named her his rightful heir.
“An appropriate course of action, husband, but I would rather keep the green heads on their shoulders where they belong,” she smirked. “After all, it would be such a waste, watching that beautiful face rot.”
His husband gave her an all-knowing smile while the rest of the lords, nobles, and knights alike shared a look of confusion, wondering to what or whom she was referring.
Nevertheless, there was no time to sit idly, not when her brother had been crowned so publicly.
In the Dragon Pit, with the Conqueror’s crown, the Conqueror’s sword, the Conqueror’s name. All valid symbols of legitimacy carefully constructed to bolster his claim.
What an utter farce.
She surveyed everyone gathered around the Table, meeting each person’s gaze before issuing swift orders.
“If we are to take over Kings Landing, we must ensure my siblings never have a chance to reach their dragons.” She looked at Lucerys and Addam. “Ser Addam and Prince Lucerys will both ride their dragons and ensure Vhagar’s solitude remains unbroken, for the beast will not attack unprovoked.’’
She knew the ways of the creatures of old Valyria well; even the largest dragon in the world would not harm without active compulsion from her rider.
Both Addam and Lucerys exchanged a look before answering in unison. “Yes, your grace.”
She turned to Nettles next.
“Meanwhile, Nettles will be in charge of securing the Dragon Pit. Make sure the dragons remain chained, you are permitted to burn the dragonkeepers should they attempt to disobey. You are to hold your positions and wait for my command.”
Nettles nodded, her hands clasped behind her. ‘’
“Yes, my Queen.”
“My husband and my heir shall ride alongside me, we shall fly over the Red Keep, let everyone know the rightful queen has returned to claim her throne.”
“And what of the enemies residing in your castle, Your Grace?” Maester Gerardys inquired, concern clear in his voice.
She looked at Daemon and smiled. “Daemon, your lower men in the City Watch, are they as ready as you claimed?’’
Daemon nodded.
“They shall fall on their sword should you command it.”
She hummed.
“I do not want their lives, I want them to secure persons of interest in the Red Keep, namely my siblings and the Hightowers.”
Daemon gave another firm nod.
“It shall be done, Your Grace.”
“The Lady Baela and Princess Rhaenys shall remain here.” Rhaenyra held the collective eye of her step-daughter and the princess, to reaffirm their role was as important as any other’s. “You are to guard Dragonstone in our absence.” She sighed, “And Lord Corlys, I am beholden to your naval support in this endeavour.”
“My ships sail at your command, Your Grace,” the Velaryon Lord assured.
Having finished her piece, she regarded everyone one last time. Allies and family both, all were integral to her.
The pieces were in place, and by the mercy of gods, she would have her throne sooner than later. After all, this was what she had been preparing for the majority of her life.
“We ride on the morrow,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Go to it then.”
**
She took a walk on the beach with Lucerys and Jacaerys, mere hours before they were to ride for Kings Landing.
The danger was present, she was well aware of this, but she had been preparing her boys from the first day they moved to Dragonstone. She knew that both of them understood the stakes well.
She also knew that both of them would perform their duties without fail.
“Both of you are aware of what will happen once I retake my throne, and I know both of you gave your acquiescence for the good of the family,’’ she started, looking at both her boys. “But I must assure you, there is still time to refuse, should any of you wish it.”
Both of them smiled at each other before Jacaerys answered. “I have no qualms with it, Mother.”
“Nor do I,” Lucerys added.
Perhaps she was mistaken, perhaps it was a trick of the sunshine, but she thought she could make out the faintest hint of colour on both their cheeks.
It must be her imagination.
Nevertheless, she surged forward and pressed a kiss on both their heads, giving them a smile full of pride and joy.
“I’m proud of you, both of you.”
**
The day Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen rode for Kings Landing could be described as nothing but the triumph it was.
The people of the capital kept their necks craned, their gazes firmly set on the skies as three dragons soared through the air.
It was a show of force, a show of power.
Vermax, Jacaerys Velaryon’s dragon, was a sight to behold in all its green glory, with the Heir to the Iron Throne sitting atop it.
Caraxes, Daemon Targaryen’s dragon, took it upon himself to roar as loudly as he could, his high- pitched shriek ensuring that none were uninformed of their descent.
And lastly, Queen Rhaenyra’s dragon, Syrax, was the very picture of grace and beauty, a mount befitting the Targaryen woman who rode it.
At that moment, everyone in Kings Landing knew.
Rhaenyra had come for her throne.
**
She entered the Red Keep with her entourage consisting of her husband, her firstborn, and the many knights who had already sworn fealty to her.
There was no time to waste, and her advance remained true, her steps never faltering as she made her way to the Throne room.
The Throne room, which now held her siblings and the Green Queen in the clutches of the men loyal to her and her husband.
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but sigh, and standing there, looking at her family, looking at the people who usurped her throne, she could only pray that her long-laid plans would come to fruition.
She addressed all of her siblings first.
“My dearest sister and brothers.” She acknowledged Alicent next with a wry dip of her chin. “My lady, as I understand it, the lot of you have been quite busy in my absence.”
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent started immediately, her expression grim. “Please, do whatever you will with me, but spare my children, I implore you.”
“Mother!” Aemond exclaimed, his eye wide at the Green Queen’s words. Her brother, the false king, looked positively ill. The only one who appeared remotely unconcerned was her sweet sister, Helaena.
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but frown, of course the woman thought her evil. Of course, she thought she would exterminate her own kin. She sometimes wished she were the monster Alicent thought her to be. It would have made things so much easier.
She chuckled. “You do not have to worry, my Lady, I will bring my kin no harm.” She steeled her gaze, then her voice. “So long as they all bend the knee to me and accept the terms of my surrender.”
She walked over to where Aegon was. As the person they had chosen to put in power, acquiring his affirmation would be most important.
“Brother, I am willing to forgive and forget the treasonous actions of everyone here, all you have to do is accept the offer I am making you.”
“And what offer is that?” Aemond grit out, hands fisted like he was itching to punch someone. Not that he could.
“An offer of betrothals that will unite House Targaryen: Aegon shall be wed to Jacaerys as his consort,’’ she said, looking Aemond straight in the eye, “and you shall be wed to Lucerys.”
Aemond's eye widened. “You can’t be serious!”
Daemon chuckled behind her, deeply amused.
“Oh, but I am, and I’m not done yet,” she smirked, looking back at Alicent. “For I shall take the Lady Alicent to wife.”
Alicent’s face paled beyond comprehension, looking as if she had been sentenced to the gallows next morning.
Rhaenyra ignored her in favour of facing her brother, the false king. “Do you accept?”
Aegon didn’t speak a word; eyes unblinking, he appeared to be staring through her, his face a blank.
She tilted her head. “...brother?”
Aegon finally blinked, as if woken from a trance, speaking for the first time. “What?”
She cleared her throat.
“My terms of surrender,” she repeated, hiding the exasperation in her voice. “Do you accept?”
Aegon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Y-Yes, of course.”
She briefly heard Aemond muttering curses beneath his breath and Alicent falling to her knees with a muffled thud, but she didn’t truly comprehend any of it. Not over the euphoria of her victory.
She smiled.
Smiled because there was a lot to take care of, to figure out, but she had successfully taken her throne, without bloodshed and without tearing the realm apart.
And she would be wed to her childhood companion.