Chapter Text
The wails of the babe mingled with the thunder outside as the heir to the heir took her first breath amongst salt and smoke. The crown princess Rhaenyra had laboured for countless hours at her seat at Dragonstone before the arrival of the twins and it was said that the cries of the children signalled the end of the worst storm of the season. A miracle that granted them the name of Stormborn by King Viserys when they were presented at court by the princess.
The court would marvel at her pure valyrian features, skin paler than the moon, so unlike her father, her amethyst eyes the image of the prince Baelon. But her brother, the heir to Driftmark, was carved in the image of his father, skin darker than his sister with eyes the shimmering purple of the older Velaryon twins, though his hair was greatly likened to the princess Rhaenys, his grandam. Their birth heralded a new generation of pure Valyrian heirs.
Though they were not viewed as such by everyone. The greens would flout treasonous mummers for years to come about the unholy children of the princess, so unlike in image to one another, a proof of their mother and father’s supposed treachery and blasphemy. Though it was never near the king who held his elder grandchildren more dearly than even his own long-awaited first son.
The King would seat each child on one knee as he sat on the Iron throne, proclaiming that one day they each would have their own thrones. It was rumoured that on his dying breath, the king would call out to only three remarkable women in his life- his first wife of love, his first daughter and his first grandchild to the envy and bitterness of his green queen.
The storm changed the winds of the coming dance in ways no one could predict. A queen could be accepted, although reluctantly, but the rule of two queens. One after another? The lords of the realm would rather burn the iron throne before letting a woman ascend.
The dearth of heirs that plagued the reign of the young king had made covetous men eye the throne. The previous hand and the green queen pleaded with the King to change the heirship and declare Aegon as the prince of Dragonstone to avoid rebellion to no avail. He was a pleasant man loved by both the lords and the common folk for his feasts and generosity, but never had he remained so resolute on something. The King had declared that Rhaenyra would ascend the throne after him, a vow to his late wife, Queen Aemma and remained steadfast with it. The queen’s father was summarily banished again, and the queen lost her last influence on the King.
Though this would not stop her plotting, for years to come the court would be aflutter with whispers about the parentage of the children. Slander it may or may not be, but they were the Targaryen, in image and blood, dragon riders and beloved, sure in their royal blood. So alike to the Realm’s delight in spirit, their eyes always shone with faint superiority.
Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.
Not to the whims of mere men.
Nor to the fates destined by gods.