Chapter Text
PROLOGUE: WE ARE NOT THE SAME
Rhaena Targaryen and Maegor the Cruel had wed.
It was a time of anguish in the realm. Aegon had been killed by his uncle, and the realm was in chaos over Maegor's rule. But his only concern was the fact that he had five wives, yet none of them ever produced a child.
Except for Rhaena.
From their union came a girl who was the image of her grandmother, Visenya.
With pure white hair and piercing violet eyes, Maegor named her “Syrin” after the Old Valyrian God, Syrax. Aerea and Rhaella wanted to get to know their new sister, but Maegor made it clear that even though they are of the same blood - they were not the same.
Syrin was Maegor’s shadow and did all she could to make her father proud. She used her title as princess to it’s full extent, ordering to be trained like a knight, scolding the Kingsguard when she caught them lacking, and had a crown made to look like her father’s.
Her dreams of becoming queen after him would soon vanquish.
Maegor crowned Syrin as his heir, but only until one of his brides could produce a son. Syrin, in turn, demanded for her father to reconsider because she was the first born. He looked upon his daughter and said, “you were born with a cunt, but until you can walk into a room full of men and make them tremble, then you are not worthy.”
Despite this, she still tried, the poor girl. She would forever be chasing the image of her father, lost to the truth that no matter how many men feared her or if she wore The Conquerors Crown itself, she was still a woman.
And her own mother wanted nothing to do with it.
Rhaena did not like Syrin. She saw too much of Maegor within her and focused her love upon her twins instead, who always wondered why they could never play with their half-sister. The only time they had spoken was much later in her life, and by then, the damage was done.
And when Maegor died?
Silence.
Syrin had become a ghost. Her skin was as pale as the moon during his funeral, but it wasn't because he was gone. Deep down, she knew he was a horrible person, but he also loved her. How can you hate a man who loved you yet was horrid to any other creature?
Then, Jaehaerys and Alysanne married. They took her throne.
Alysanne worried that Syrin might take revenge for both her throne and her father. She approached the girl with the chance to create her own family and marry, but she refused.
The next time Alysanne approached her about the topic, it wasn’t a question.
She was to be married to some Lord whose name she had forgotten in the midst of her panic, but what she did know was that he was old and ugly. Syrin told her no and Alysanne reminded her that she is her queen.
“You are only queen because the men of the realm don’t see you as a person. They see you as someone Jaehaerys mounts every night,” Syrin spat at the older woman, receiving a slap in return. The Kingsguard separated them just before Syrin could lunge at her.
She fled on Aegar that night, covered in soot from the Dragonpit from which she stole four eggs.
Syrin Targaryen was never heard from again.
The princess and her dragon had gone with the wind and across the Narrow Sea. Syrin would sooner find herself hanged than to be a breeding tool for some fat country Lord and intended on never marrying.
Until, like many stories, a man came along. A man who swore he saw a goddess when he looked upon her furrowed brows and annoyed expression. His name was Eryx Rogare, a young Lord in Braavos, but she refused his hand.
After many more gifts and begging, she asked to see proof of his wealth. “I am a princess, a Targaryen, a daughter of Old Valyria. I will not take anything less than what I deserve.”
Not only was he a Rogare, but also an Antaryon through his mother. House Antaryon kept a low profile, but in Braavos, they hold the Iron Bank. He was next in line to prove himself.
Syrin married him five years later and only a few months afterward, would word spread that a Targaryen princess in Braavos was carrying the child of the richest man in Westeros and Essos.
Years had passed and in 103 AC, King Jaehaerys sent a letter to plead with Syrin to return home and she could sit happily at Dragonstone. But, she would have to divorce Eryx in favor of a Riverlord or mayhaps a Knight of the Vale.
This was her last letter to House Targaryen.
“I've created my own empire with a man who worships the ground I walk on, and children who bring honor to the Targaryen name. Your children just keep dying."
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1: FOOLISH MEN
Vanora
I was always the argumentative one in the family, but everyone knows where I get it from and she’s standing right in front of me. White-silver hair and all, even with that crown that she probably sleeps in.
My mother.
The Queen in the East.
Syrin Targaryen.
“This-” she held the letter in a vice grip, “-is an insult. Have you learned nothing of how they treated our family?”
She’s always been an angry woman, but never raised us with her hatred. Our future was our future.
Just not when it comes to our cousins across the Narrow Sea.
“I know, mother. Everyone is reminded of it,” a hint of bitterness rises in my tone, “but this is my decision. You’re not even going - you have rejected every letter from them, so why does me going make you so angry?”
“Because he married a Hightower,” there it is. The ugly truth of the past we have kept close to our hearts since the day she brought me into the world, giving House Hightower another reason to be afraid.
Mother pointed across the bay, “he sits with a snake, and she’s already given him a son. Surely now, he will dismiss that poor girl as I was, and the cycle continues. . .I don’t want you getting involved in the petty schemes of the Crown.”
“I’m not one of them.”
One of them.
We may look like them with our hair and Valyrian traces in our eyes, yes, and they have dragons, as we do, but in no way shape or form are we alike to our cousins. We do not lock up our dragons and we certainly do not fear spilling blood. Maegor was a King who took what he wanted and passed that trait down to mother, who in turn looked upon us and granted us what they never could - choices.
Knowing my husband would be listening in from outside, I leaned in and whispered, “Nae da esa riñita. Skoroso ao se zyo ilvo esa?”
Her eyes left me and retreated behind me. It was then I understood the many times she’d never let us leave Braavos, never let us fly our dragons too close to the Narrow Sea. This wasn’t about me - it was about her.
My baby.
Vayna.
The heiress of Pentos, if everything went according to plan.
And a direct threat to not only the Crown, but that dreadful House Hightower.
Maegor wasn’t demonized by the histories. Maegor was his namesake, and we thrive off of that alone. My mother may not have been like him in the ways of polygamy and kinslaying, but because she was dealt a stronger hand - being a woman.
She is feminine in a way that is lethal. She married the richest man in the Free Cities and although she found love in him that was safe and happy, she would have stayed married if it meant wealth and protection. The Crown knows better than to ever demand anything of Braavos, especially when the Lord of the Iron Bank married one of their daughters.
They need her money.
Her permission to borrow it.
She doesn’t need to spill blood because having them kiss at her feet is much more satisfying than anything a weapon can do.
My eyes met hers with understanding, “I know, but the time of war is long passed us. I get why you raised us the way you did, I get it. But. . .we live in a time of peace. Let us take advantage of that!”
She’s too stubborn - too prideful to ever step into the room that should have been hers. To go and see another man sitting on her chair would be an insult to her very eyes alone.
“Peace?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes out to the bay. “Peace is temporary when a man sits and all other men around him stroke his ego. Once that girl ascends the throne, there will be chaos and there will be a challenge.”
“A challen-? You mean the boy? He is a babe!” It was my turn to be in disbelief.
Mother rounded me and went straight for Vayna. I trust her with my life, as well as my daughter’s. She looked upon her with a softness that showed me she was weakening in her resolve.
Being a mother makes you soft in the ways of motherhood, but becoming a grandmother? It makes you tender.
“I just don’t want her to become a consolation prize,” her fingers ghosted over her rosy cheek, “I know that court, Vanora. They traded me like a prized calf the moment I had my first bleeding. I could hear them talk in that council room, using my age and Valyrian features like a price. . .they’ll try and do the same to her. That Hightower will sweet talk you with lemon cakes and empty promises-”
She stopped once my hand grabbed at hers.
“And I’d sooner burn that chair then let it anywhere near her,” I started, “she won’t marry that boy. I can promise you that. I’ll let her do as she pleases, as you allowed for me. Vayna will marry for love, and nothing less.”
It was pure coincidence that Anteros and I met. Gold always dawned my neckline and diamonds dazzled my fingers as to keep the men who feared my standards far away. He was visiting Braavos for a meeting of all Lords about the topic of slavery in the Free Cities, and the impact it has on the economy.
A sickening thing that the only way you can convince men to abolish slavery is the fact that it brings them less wealth.
I was sat beside my mother and opposite of her was my sister. Aelinor, at the time, was already promised to Maegor, our brother. They’d been a match since they were young and no one objected - still, if a Targaryen princess is unmarried, men still like to try.
Not him.
Anteros saw me, completely serious and chin raised high with pearls in my hair and stared.
For an uncomfortable amount of time.
After the meeting was adjourned, he followed like a duck to it’s mother. I outright asked him if he was too busy staring to have any stance on the topic at hand, and he laughed at my rude tone and disgusted face. It’s not that I didn’t think he was handsome, but I’d had too much of men staring and not acting.
He ended up voting against slavery and I assumed it was too impress me. Pretty brown eyes would do nothing for me, nor would empty flattery. But again and again, he would find me and more and more I was growing fond of his intelligence and sharp humour. He was not thrown off by the thought of me wanting equal power, taking away the words, “I will obey my husband for he is the absolute power” out of our vows.
And now we have Vayna.
“I just wish the best for my girls,” she cupped my face, swiping her thumb over my cheekbones and the dainty freckles that danced there.
“It is one visit. If you want, I’ll take some military personnel-”
“Hire The Second Sons.”
The Second Sons are mercenaries for hire that we have not had contact with in years. My mother has only conversed with them a few times before when she first married our father, mayhaps even hired them but she’d never tell me.
My brows furrowed at her suggestion, “you want me to hire mercenaries? I do not trust them as far as I can throw them.”
Her hands left my face and rung together - a telltale sign of her nerves. “We have more wealth than the Crown and dragons, should they think of turning. They know where their loyalty lies and it is not up the pompous ass of a Hightower.”
She left me with my thoughts and a fussy baby.
The letter she was so upset about concerned our family - the blood of the dragon. Viserys named his daughter as his heir, which came to a shock to us but the death of his wife for the sake of a son also stirred discomfort in me. The poor girl is now left with nothing but her memory, which is why I wanted to say yes to his invitation.
His letter asked for us to visit Kings Landing and stay in the Red Keep as guests. To visit the halls my siblings and I were denied, and to make amends. He expressed his concern for his daughter, wanting her reign to be easy without fear of her relatives across the sea.
He loves her.
Anteros was staring at the letter, going over it over and over again as I held Vayna close to my chest. “My mother said to hire The Second Sons,” I scoffed, “she is paranoid.”
“She has a right to be,” he replied with a soft sigh, his eyes drifting back to us. I sat on a chair with my legs up, swaddling her sleeping form. “I’ll hire a handful for us.”
“You cannot be serious-”
“As serious as ever,” his hand came up to Vayna’s downy head, stroking the soft tuft of dark hair that dawned it. I knew it would be unlikely for her to get my mother or sisters silver hair, as I was born with a mane of gold, but he was more than happy to have something of him in her. “Syrin knows Westerosi Lords better than we do. They will not take kindly to your tongue, wife.”
“Really? I’ve never heard any complaints from you.”
But before we could challenge the instructions given to me by the Maesters, she began to stir. Vayna wasn’t a screaming baby by any means, but rather, she preferred to look at her surroundings.
Anteros then shifted from foot to foot, staring at the deep metal pan in her nursery.
A dragons egg.
It was from a clutch born from my dragon. The eggshell shifted in the light, a soft red and white dancing on the textured shell. No hesitation came from me when we were brought a few and picked that one, but that’s because he has a hard time saying no to me.
But her?
He was afraid.
I grew up with Lillox, my dragon. Born in my cradle from the moment she hatched, and attached at the hip until she grew too big to accompany me in the halls of our Braavosi estate. He made no objections to me flying her to Pentos to marry him, but at the end of the day, he had seen my connection to her. He trusts Lillox with me.
“It will not hurt her,” it changed when he became a father. He’s never seen the bond form before, so seeing a dragons egg in the same room as hers made him uneasy.
Being the husband to a Targaryen came with tradition that he realized he wasn’t so sure about passing down to Vayna.
His arms crossed while his body became tense, “But how do you know? It will be wild and hungry, will it not?”
“It would only be wild if it were born in the wild,” I corrected, standing with a stifled groan at the lingering ache from birth. “She has dragon blood, as I do. The bond will snap into place and it will become her protector.”
Something so natural to me but terrifying to him.
Vayna pursed her little lips at Anteros, staring up at him with wide lavender eyes. His heart melted as she began to lean towards him and he picked her up from my arms, cooing and smiling at her.
He spoke to her in Low Valyrian, or Bastard Valyrian. Despite how hard my mother tried, High Valyrian was not a sharp tongue my siblings and I could inherit. Low Valyrian was spoken more through out Braavos and we picked it up faster.
In Pentos, she’s a princess. She’s my blood and his.
In Kings Landing, she’s nothing.
The Faith worked hard after mother fled. I knew from our spies that we would be seen as bastards, as Jeahaerys disinherited her shortly afterward.
Vayna Targaryen would be Vayna Waters.
And that’s why I wanted to go.
If Viserys wanted Rhaenyra to have peace during her reign then we would need to be reinstated into the annals of history as Targaryens. Would this enrage his loyal Hand? Of course, but that is only the icing on the cake.
And we are the biggest trade hub in the Free Cities. If Kings Landing wanted to continue relations without any growth in payment, then they’ll do as we ask.
He spared me a glance, “how long do you think it’ll take before your sister-?”
“Expect her within the week.”
Aelinor was known as “The Kind”. She’s as sweet as honeyed wine and her personal guard dog is Maegor II, who has always been protective of her sweet nature. She’s always been attached to me, so once I moved to Pentos, her words became letters. Now the news of my labour and birth of Vayna will surely have reached her by now, and she will plead with our brother to ride here to see us. Plus, seeing my nieces wouldn't be bad.
And then I will sneak off to take Vayna for a ride upon Lillox.
It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Notes:
sorry it's short. I wanted it to jumpstart things and establish the family first
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 2: DRAGONS TOGETHER
Vanora
I’d say we knew how to make a grand entrance.
Kings Landing is used to seeing dragons, since they currently have their princess that prefers to ride rather than listen to the ramblings of the Septa. But seeing the Targaryens who lived across the sea, one that easily eclipsed the size of the fifteen year old beast, was an astounding sight.
All with Vayna squealing as I flew by the boat, reaching her chubby hands out as Anteros held her close.
Lillox flew upwards, keeping pace with the boat.
I could easily make myself early, but I don’t trust anyone in a land my mother has hated since she was a girl.
The smell of the city plagued my nose and I had to stop myself from retching. It was a mixture of shit and piss and that awful dead fish scent, which made me wonder how royalty could live here.
Once the ship docked, two carriages were at the ready. They bore the red and black logo of our family, and Anteros was the first to step off. He was as weary as I was and happily handed her off to me just as I slid off Lillox, who kept a keen eye on the men around her and other ships with crew who eyed the foreign Targaryens.
“Fly her to the gate. She’s safer with you,” he whispered before kissing my cheek, and pressing a quick one to her forehead before getting into the carriage. A handful of Second Sons, just as he had promised, followed behind as it began to rattle while taking him up to the Red Keep.
Murderers, rapists, thieves and the innocent all shoved into one awful city.
It is a wonder that there’s any order at all.
To make matters worse, the King did not greet us at the gate of the Red Keep. My husband threw me a glance, telling me what we already knew.
They don’t see us as the same.
It should be expected, but that matters not.
Vayna’s occasional babble broke through the silence of the halls. Judgemental eyes fell upon us from all angles of every turn, all of servants and Kingsguard. People who looked at us and did not see Targaryens, but pretenders.
Bastards.
The heavy doors were flanked by two Kingsguard on either side of it. Their gazes made me feel small, which I hated.
“Announce us as Targaryens or I swear to the Seven, I will cut you cock to throat,” Anteros had sensed my discomfort from the moment we entered these desolate halls, “and if you do not feel threatened by that, remember that my House is responsible for your grain.”
My hands tightened their grip upon Vayna the moment those doors opened. Sat upon the Iron Throne was King Viserys himself with the Crown of the Conciliator sat upon his brow, and to the right of him was his heir - Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen dressed in a more modest look for a princess.
Then Alicent Hightower.
His new queen.
The lack of green upon her person did not make me forget the rumors. That in his time of grief, she seduced the King, or the other whispers that it was the Hand of the King who placed his daughter in the King’s eye.
Either way, he was already a cunt in my mind.
“Lady Vanora of House Targaryen, Prince Anteros of House Mothki, and Lady Vayna of House Targaryen.”
Close enough.
The Second Sons stayed close behind us, their armor light and their deep red and orange drapes of Pentos representing who they were and what they were hired for. Otto Hightower watched us stop before the King with his chin held high, and I wanted to split his skull in two for even daring to look at me.
No one spoke.
No one bowed.
Viserys cleared his throat, straightening his posture, “Cousin, I welcome you. How was your trip? I hope the seas were kind to you.”
“Kinder than your courtiers, certainly,” I express with a straight face, earning more awkward tension. “And I am not a Lady, should you need to remind your Kingsguard. My mother was born a princess, and her children are of the same.”
“Your mother was disinherited by the late King Jaehaerys, my Lady,” the smug Hand took his chance to remind me of the past, unwilling to hold back his smirk.
The young queen shifted in the discomfort of her fathers words, “father, please.”
Viserys wore a strained smile, passing his Hand a look that spoke what words couldn’t - at least not in our presence. Meaning he knew of Otto Hightower’s equal hatred of us, warned him beforehand to keep his mouth shut.
The princess looked utterly bored, her eyes and mind elsewhere.
A smirk played openly at my lips as an idea formed and I decided that I was not one to cower normally, and me being here shouldn’t hinder that. “King Viserys, it seems your Hand cannot listen to simple instruction. Does he need to be put in time out or will he behave like the rest of adults?”
Oh how quickly a man can forget himself is astounding.
When he took a step forward, The Second Sons took two more steps.
This could easily turn into a bloodbath and we’d be the ones escaping without a scratch. The princess glanced to her father in a panic, who quickly took hold of the delicate situation.
“Otto, I believe you should go.”
Yes, run along.
Scheme elsewhere.
Alicent began to interject, and I had a feeling it was out of fear rather than a genuine respect for the man who sold her. Such an innocent girl could not have seduced a man even if she tried. “Husband, please, it was a misunderstanding.”
But Viserys could see the tension brewing. A smart man, for now.
“Otto,” He spoke once more and the snake began to slither out of the room, irritated and embarrassed. His gaze never left us, but we did not so much as spare the man a glance.
It would only prolong his anger.
Finally, the princess spoke up. “Is that true, father?”
Viserys gave her a quick nod before returning his attention back to the newly flourishing dynasty. “I apologize for my Hand. It seems the past haunts him even now. I assure you, it will not happen again.”
Anteros stepped forward, “you are right. King Viserys, it will not. We came across the Narrow Sea at your invitation, yet so far my wife and daughter have faced belittled stares, dismissing comments, and now even your own Hand does not see us as Targaryens. I think it is time we go-”
Give a man a spoonful and he will want the entire pot.
Viserys was quick enough and I did not even have to take another step. “Wait. Wait, I apologize. I do. It is the histories that poison his mind.”
The princess watched, taking in the scene before her as the little queen spoke up once more on the behalf of the man she should despise. “Maegor wanted the destruction of The Faith and my House. Surely, you must know how that feels to my father to know his line still holds a hatred for ours.”
My mother was always open about her hate. She said it was better than holding it in.
So, with thoughtful eyes and an innocent face, I lied, “Those are my mothers words. Not mine. I did not grow up here. I do not know what it is like to grow up hated as she did, but you, my cousins, and Queen Alicent, have done nothing to me. . .I want the same as you - for my daughter to live in a time of peace. To look across the bay and know that only friendship is on the other side, but I believe to do so, we must be recognized as you are - Targaryens. Fire and blood should never be separated.”
As if on cue, Vayna squealed. Her lavender eyes were wide and searching, riled up by all of the tension and talk of pride.
“Father,” Rhaenyra captured his attention, “I think I agree. The House of the Dragon should never be separated. We’re stronger united.”
Alicent Hightower gave no opinion on the matter.
For now, all we were given was a contemplative look and a nod, “I must convene with the small council, but yes, I think that is something to consider.”
It was easy to convince a king of what should be done when it concerns the child he loves.
At least it’s one thing we have in common.
The day had been well spent by common court flattery, those with interests in our port and wine cooing at Vayna whilst offering me empty words of flattery and kissing up to my husband. The only Houses we took any true interest in was House Lannister and House Strong.
“Oh, she’s such a quiet baby,” Lord Lyonel commented as I held Vayna close to my chest. The other ladies waved and cooed at her as she stared back.
I gave a nod, “yes, she’s always been like that. Even after birth, she hardly made any attempts to cry.”
It was then that Lord Jason Lannister made a comment of his own. “I suppose that means she will make an excellent wife one day, princess.”
It is men like this that run the realm, unfortunately. Jason Lannister is the image of a Westerosi Lord - a man ever eager to show off his gold, his great home, his lineage, and his cock should someone so much as glance at him the wrong way. But we are both wealthy Houses and as such, I cannot risk making an enemy of him.
“Lord Jason,” his eyes snapped to me, “I hear Ser Tyland is on the small council. Tell me, how do you feel about the current state of your House with the Crown?”
His head tilted ever so slightly in mild confusion, “I’m. . .I’m sorry. Princess?”
Anteros bit back a wry grin, “What my wife asks is, do the Lannisters feel fairly represented here at court? It’s so different compared to Pentos. I mean, I know my father-in-law lessened the land taxes of his council last year.”
“Oh yes,” I exaggerated, “they experienced a drought and my father could not have them spending what they needed for the winter months.”
Reeling him in wasn’t hard.
It was easy. . .
These men are fucking morons.
Soon enough, Lord Jason Lannister was conversing with my husband on the matters of Lannister and Pentoshi wine.
“Played him like a fiddle,” Lord Lyonel hummed, giving me a glance of approval. “I say that means we are also in your favor, princess?”
I adjusted Vayna in my arms, handing her over to a nurse maid to be fed once she began to whine against me. “I mean, I know my husband and he has wished to create more. . .personal relations with the Westerosi Houses. The Lannisters have gold, but tell me, what does House Strong have, my lord?”
It was not hard to gain favor over these courtiers. Sure, they were paying half attention to me because their eyes would sooner be at my swollen breasts, but to whatever means necessary.
Because we need allies here.
Even if majority are of a false nature.
I thought that nothing could surprise me that day. I had seen a lousy King, an overzealous Hand, lustful Lords and ever teeming Ladies who were more interested in the jewels in my hair rather than intellectual conversation.
"Ao gevives zirȳ."
You were toying with them.
The smooth tongue of a daughter of House Targaryen flowed through my ears. The princess Rhaenyra came upon me in the hall later that evening, staring at the many portraits of the family I never knew.
"Pār kārīnari jemagon, ñuhoso,” I returned in my own bastard tongue, but the same sharpness in pronunciation that allowed her to understand me.
They were asking to be toyed with, cousin.
She steered closer to my side as we kept our eyes a part.
“Is that your mother?” My finger pointed to a rather new painting. The colors were brighter and fresh. So unlike the way she died.
Rhaenyra offered a sorrowful smile, unable to tear her eyes away. “Yes. . .”
But she was holding back.
“I do not know you. I do not know your family, but I know when a girl is holding back,” she was shocked to see me call her out on it, as if she was used to being ignored. “Girls speak their minds in Pentos. I will not punish you. I’m not like them.”
With a bitter and harsh gulp, she was still careful with her words, “I. . .Father wanted a son for so long. I wanted him to have a son because it meant she did not have lose anymore babes. But when he-” her voice quivered and she held back tears.
My instincts flared and my hand moved to her chin, tilting her face back up. “Go on.”
“When he allowed them to cut her open, I wished it was him,” Rhaenyra managed out, her voice rough with her emotions. “ I was the one who had to burn her, I had to help my friend dress to marry him, and now he has the son he wanted. . .he has no use for me. He’ll marry me off and I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to die-”
There it is.
Every girls fear when she sees the price of being a Lady.
Or a princess.
My grip tightened to keep her eyes on mine, “Listen to me, Rhaenyra. I may not know your father, but I know he did love your mother. It has been a year and he has not supplanted you. You are to be the first Queen of Westeros. It is a heavy burden to shoulder, but it is one you are now responsible for. If you should ever need anything, say of Pentos or Braavos, I am a flight away. I would sooner chase away any Lord on dragonback than see another one of our line suffer to the hands of men.”
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 3: A BABY AND A DREAM
Vanora
The maidservants and wet nurses fussed over Vayna during our stay. From her eyes to the tips of her toes did they admire her, saying how long it has been since a girl babe has graced the castle.
So, I asked about the little prince.
They all froze momentarily before sputtering praises about him. Charming. Lively. Whiney - all reasonable for any babe, but I had a feeling that they were hiding their true emotions on the matter.
One of them, Katherine, watched as I simply dressed Vayna in her Pentoshi fashion. It was fabrics they were unfamiliar with working with and as any good mother, I offered to show them how to carefully drape her in them.
“The Queen wouldn’t-” she stopped once our eyes met. “Apologies, Your Grace. I meant no harm-”
“No, please. Speak freely. I am to leave in days anyway, so what harm would there be?” They all exchanged glances before the eldest wet nurse, Anisa, spoke up. Her face was set in firm and hardened lines, probably having worked with the family before I was born.
“What she means to say is that the new Queen cannot be around the young prince for longer than necessary. He cries in her presence and she can never put him to rest,” she spoke as if the girl was somehow a terrible mother, but the reasonable voice in my mind reminded me that the new Queen is merely seventeen. I married when I was twenty-eight and had Vayna when shortly after I turned thirty.
I gave a soft nod, “Yes, well. . .let us not forget that the Queen is a child herself. Westerosi custom sickens me.”
Before retreating the room, feeling the stuffiness drown me before the cool air of the halls enveloped me. It was utterly stifling, but I had to get ready.
It was Aegon's second name day.
And my husband was keen to attend whilst I was utterly exhausted already.
“Name days in Pentos are grand,” He justified as we rode in a carriage, bouncing Vayna on his knee. She was still barely about to be one, her focus entirely on the wooden horse toy she preferred to gnaw on rather than play with.
“Yes, but not as grand as this. . .”
Anteros rose his brow, “Only at your request.”
I hate that he’s right.
And he was.
I did not like big parties because then that meant we would have to invite Magisters and Lords that I did not care about. They would flaunt themselves all for the sake of pleasing us, and even bring their sons to show off to our daughter.
To which I’d sooner burn the entirety of Essos.
“You’ve grown attached to Rhaenyra.”
A frustrated sigh escaped me, “Another astute observation, husband. Is the sky blue?”
He knew why I was being nippy. I had not ridden Lillox in days, I had been surrounded by Ladies who would sooner gossip than extend their own minds, and to top it all off, we were still not formally recognized as Targaryens.
“She reminds me of Aelinor,” I admitted my sudden attachment to the family I had not known until now. My dear sister, who I have been separated by through my marriage to Anteros. Sure, we can fly out anytime to see each other, but we have duties of our own.
And Aelinor is pregnant.
She’s too fragile to fly.
“Kind, hard headed-”
“-and utterly Targaryen?” He mused.
He managed to bring a soft smile to my lips, “Yes. Utterly Targaryen.”
Vayna let out a screech as her toy clattered to the ground but made quick work to set her sights on me.
I tilted my head and scrunched my nose at her, “What is it, byka lōtā?”
Little flower.
All she did in response was let out another scream before Anteros handed her to me. She happily grabbed onto my hair and pressed her mouth to my cheek, mimicking what she’s seen us do so many times.
“Yes, yes. Nyke jorrāelza ao tubī."
I love you, too.
The tents that were set up were draped by each Houses sigil. Hightower, of course, Lannister, Strong, Redwyne, Targaryen - any House that was invited had come to witness the boy turn two.
Which would have worried me further if not for the glint of silver hair that caught my eye.
“Waited for the parade to dissipate?” My voice caught her entirely off guard as she stepped down fully from the carriage, and her eyes immediately latched onto Vayna. They’d taken a liking to one another quickly and I paid it no mind.
“Precisely,” Rhaenyra grunted as she picked up Vayna, carrying her in her arms and smiling at her. “All of this seems so. . .unnecessary.”
“Jealousy does not look good on you, Rhaenyra,” Her eyes widened at my astute observation. “I am not jealous!”
“You were the King’s only child for fifteen years. It’s only natural,” I reassured, “When Maegor was born, I tried to sell him. On the streets I wandered, asking everyone and anyone if they wanted a Targaryen boy until my mother caught me.”
Rhaenyra adjusted Vayna onto her hip as she listened, “Was she angry?”
“Oh, furious,” We continued on, walking towards the Targaryen tent. “She gave me a right spanking on my arse, and had me restricted from flying for a month. . .that is until I broke out in the night to take flight only a few days afterward.”
Anteros snuck in a kiss to my cheek, having caught up with us, “Let us pray Vayna does not inherit the same temperament.”
Rhaenyra grinned as Vayna latched onto her silver hair, chewing on it happily. “I fear that is not up for debate, Prince Anteros.”
All around us were nobles drinking, stuffing their faces full of cakes and cured meats, and guzzling it all down with Lannister wine. The wine was a light amber color and surely unable to truly get you drunk unless you drank down barrels of the shit.
All of them smile and laugh. . .
But I know what they all truly think of us.
“The King has yet to name them Targaryens.”
It had been a week now and still, we remained untitled yet treated like family. It was an agonizing thing to acknowledge, especially when the rest of them seem to turn up their noses at us or glower through the might of my husband and his position.
The Prince of Pentos is not an inherited right like how nobility is in Westeros. Magisters form a council to elect this person, always a man of course, to hold them responsible for the success and failure of all that happens. It’s usually never a position that’s filled for long because the moment things go wrong, the Prince is blamed and executed.
But because he married me and I have a dragon, he has been the one to hold his position the longest and without much strain from the Magisters.
Yet I forced a kind smile once I came into view, “Viserys.”
He ushered me towards him, smiling from ear-to-ear, “Cousin, come. . .is this your doing?”
I followed his gaze to Rhaenyra, who held Vayna close as she spoke with the other ladies of the court. My daughter, as always, was more fond of what she could put in her mouth than what was happening around her.
“Rhaenyra is a gentle soul. Vayna can see it as well as I can-”
“What do you think of Lord Jason?” He cut me off, and I had to refrain from making a face of disgust.
Oh Gods, he must be drunk already.
“I think he’s certainly prideful and. . .spirited,” I could see the wheels in his head turning and I, for one, could not think of a worst match for Rhaenyra. That man would make her a shadow in any room they step in, and she would be as miserable as a washed up whale.
She is of age now.
He’ll try his best to get her set up before any more letters arrive.
Lord Strong and I exchanged the same worried glance. I was thankful to know that at least some men here could see that this would be the worst match made in history.
I placed my hand on Viserys’ arm, grabbing his attention. “Viserys, I wanted to discuss more urgent matters. I think-”
He waved his hand at me, dismissing whatever I was about to say, “Oh, do not trouble yourself with the trivial notions of the Stepstones, cousin. Go! Enjoy yourself!”
And like I predicted, the day was an utter disaster.
Vayna was soon back in my arms after Rhaenyra retreated into the woods and Anteros knew it was better to leave me alone. When I am angry, I want to feel my anger. I don’t need a man to coo in my ear and try to solve my problems, which Otto Hightower didn’t seem to get.
His footsteps were slow and precise, giving me time to get up and leave if I wanted. But the fire was too comfortable and I didn’t dare disturb my daughters’ slumber.
He said nothing for a few moments. He was watching, waiting-
“She’s the image of you.”
Otto Hightower attempted his first try at empty flattery and I would have let it slide. . .if he didn’t try and lay his filthy hands on her.
My harsh tone made his hand stop inches away from her head, “I know what you are and so long as a Hightower sits beside Viserys, he is not one of us. Do not mistake my tolerance for you to be pliancy because I think we both know what I am capable of.”
“Yet you are so eager to be recognized in the eyes of The Faith,” He bit back, stepping out from beside me and circling the firepit. Our eyes met across the floating embers and although peace remained, we could both smell the challenge approaching.
“Because it’s what we deserve.”
His eyes narrowed, “You deserve less than that. Syrin Targaryen was disinherited, therefore all of her children shall suffer the same fate.”
So, I decided to change the game.
“The boy. . .he has a dragon, does he not? Tell me, in thirteen or so years when he can ride it, do you think he can withstand the might of four?” My head cocked ever so slightly, “or five, considering that Vayna’s egg awaits her back home. . .Oh, and my sister is pregnant, as well.”
The slightest twitch of his brow made me grin.
He’s used the war of politics, but Otto Hightower has never once been privy to the art of real combat and that was my advantage.
“And let us not forget that Hightowers don’t ride dragons.”
“You will never be seen as anything more than what you are - bastard,” He hurled the insult at me with a hiss, but it did little to stray me.
“I would take that as an insult if I considered you a man.”
Because either way, one House holds all the cards.
And names won’t matter in the histories if one prevails over the other.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 4: THE ROGUE PRINCE
Vanora
We did not get what we wanted.
And tension still lingered.
“I don’t understand. We’re family, Viserys. Is this not what you wanted?” I could see the Hightower cunt grinning as we spoke to the King. He had done something to dissuade Viserys from installing us back as Targaryens.
“It is not an easy decision, Vanora. But. . .King Jaehae-”
I scoffed, turning my gaze away from him. “You would follow the law of a man who nearly lost all his children? Who sentenced his little girls to death with men who did not treasure them? Is the same fate you want for Rhaenyra?”
“Do calm yourself, Lady Vanora,” Otto replied coolly, only infuriating me further.
“Fine. Fine. Just know that you have only pushed the family that loves that girl away from her. I will not be returning unless Westeros recognizes Maegor's line as true blooded Targaryens.”
Returning home was meant to be a joy and instead, it is a hostile environment. Vayna would whine and cry for her dear cousin, but all we could offer was for her maids to tend to her.
Magisters were nearly impossible to negotiate with. They expected us to return home titled and therefore, have a new alliance with the Crown. But we’d disappointed them.
“I am sorry for our lack of title, Lords, but Viserys is very much controlled by his small council,” It felt like I was repeating myself. My hands remained in my lap, clenched so tightly that I thought I’d cut myself.
Lord Benjamin only released a small huff before turning his eyes onto my husband. “Prince Anteros, we also have the matter of the Dothraki. They caught wind of your leave and sacked three villages close to home. . .I think it is time we consider-”
My chair scraped as I pushed myself out of my seat, staring them down.
“There is only one Prince of Pentos and that is Anteros Mothki. And I offered to get rid of the Dothraki, but you said dragonfire was not a peaceful means to an end,” They shrunk from my piercing gaze. “I refuse to pay them anymore than we already have, and so that is our next option. Now, where is their Khal?”
Lillox soon took flight with me after we heard that they were taking a rest in one of the towns they had ransacked - Veloks Rest. It was our main hub for farming and if they burned all of our grain, we would be fucked for the winter.
We kept to the clouds until the familiar scent of burning flesh filled my nose.
“Embagon,” Lillox dove down, tucking her wings to her sides. The wind whipped my hair from it’s braid, and my teeth gritted against each other as the true extent of their rampage came into view.
Villagers I knew personally - Vasileous, Elysia, and Eraxie - all dead. Their bodies were hung from spikes like rapists or murderers.
And once the Dothraki came into view, the men, the women, and even children, I knew only rage. Red, hot fury that swept through me like high tide.
“Drago-!”
“Dracarys!”
I wasn’t thinking. Of course I wasn’t.
I was angry.
It is because of me that Anteros remains Prince of Pentos. A Targaryen couldn’t be trusted enough to be put in such a seat without the Magisters thinking I would make it an inherited title. To be honest, I never wanted that seat.
I just wanted the men in that room to know that there were consequences.
Lillox’s flames mowed down every Dothraki in our path, ensuring they were unrecognizable by the time I was done with them.
I left the handful that rode out on their horses alive. They needed to tell the others that Princess Vanora came back home angry and their hordes would no longer be tolerated.
What I wasn’t aware of?
My sister and brother were here.
Aelinor looked worried the moment I touched ground covered in soot and the distinct ripe smell of flesh. She was smart enough to ensure the girls were inside, or they had been waiting too long and they got impatient.
It was Maegor who came to me first.
His hands grabbed at my shoulders, stopping me in my path. I felt like I wasn’t even on the same plane of existence with how fast my blood was pumping and the irritating ringing in my ears continued.
“. . .You know dealing with Dothraki is my job,” He murmured, brushing some soot from my cheek. “You smell like shit.”
“Fuck you,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. Like any brother, he only grinned before pulling me into a much needed hug. It was only then did Aelinor know it was safe.
My voice was muffled by my cheek being eclipsed by his bicep. “How is Grayce and Naela?”
“Excited to see Vayna,” Her gentle hand brushed my hair from my eye, “and their aunt. I. . .I wanted to talk to you.”
Her and Maegor exchanged a glance before my eyes fell upon her stomach. Where a bump should reside was now a thin stomach, and my heart dropped. We knew all too well the sacrifices that came with being mothers, and more often than not, that meant being prepared to lose a babe to the stranger.
But that never made it easier.
It was only once we were inside and I was seeped into a scalding hot bath did she begin to talk.
Her hands sat firmly in her lap as Idalia scrubbed at my skin, slowly turning the water a murky grey. “How long ago did this happen? Why didn’t you write to me?”
And in came the excuses. “You were in Kings Landing trying to ensure we were written. I. . .I have Maegor and mother, and the girls-”
“Who do not understand what you have gone through,” You could tell children that you no longer carried the babe, that it has gone to a better place or simply that it is dead. But no one, especially the minds of precious girls, can know the true cost of it unless they themselves experience it one day.
And that is something I would never hope for.
She explained how the funeral went and her heart breaking at the sight of her dragon, Odith, having to bathe her baby in flames.
And then had the ashes gathered and set in our hall back in Braavos.
Three vases that were too small but carried the weight of the world.
A small smirk graced my lips, “Is mother angry?”
Is she upset that I went to Westeros?
Is she as furious as the tales of Balerion?
“She was, but riding Aegar back home gave her time to think,” My sister readjusted her gown subconsciously, tugging on the looser parts of it. “She understands your curiosity. We’ve never seen Kings Landing, or any of Westeros for that matter. But she’ll say she was right when she hears the news - that the Targaryens across the ocean-”
“-will never accept us,” I finished with a pout, looking into the murky waters.
But Vayna needs the chance we never had.
To be revered.
To be safe.
To be respected.
A gnarly idea came to mind. One that would surely have Jaehaerys rolling in his grave.
“Sister, have you heard of The Rogue Prince?”
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 5: THE FIRST DANCE
Viserys
Daemon had ignored my instruction.
After Rhaenyra retrieved the egg, to which I thank the Gods for, my brother did not return to Runestone. Instead, I found myself in awe of his tyranny as Otto told me in the early morning hour that he had taken a boat of several Gold Cloaks and himself to Pentos.
And was welcomed into the company of our cousins.
“It is like he exists to torment me,” I shook my head, eyes void of any tenderness for my brother. “Is that all?”
He gave a curt nod. “Yes, Your Grace. I fear this may be seen as an act of tyranny.”
“What?”
I spun around, facing him with a bewildered look upon my face. Yes, I banished him, and yes, I have excused his actions but to openly say Daemon is committing treason would mean war. “You cannot be serious, Otto. It’s not as if Pentos is off limits. They are family.”
Another threat of disinheritance.
He only maneuvered about my bed chambers in silence before his eyes landed upon the carving of Balerion. “I am no Targaryen, Your Grace, but when Syrin split the family in two with her absence, it caused a rift. King Jaehaerys himself knew what may happen and did his duty in ensuring her. . .”
He turned up his nose in disgust, “. . . children would be seen as bastards-”
“Is this because of Maegor?”
The name of my ancestor alone spun him into a silent fury.
“I must admit, my King, that my decisions are not unbiased,” Otto gritted his teeth together, as if thinking of them burned a hole straight through his heart. “Maegor attempted to dismantle The Faith and then would seek the destruction of my House. Such hatred does not fizzle away, nor does it leave my memory.”
I could understand him.
Although Syrin has created an empire in Essos, she has always carried his name with pride. Maegor doted on her and made it known that until he had a son, Syrin was his heir.
And if Jaehaerys never ruled, it would be her upon the throne.
A woman with Maegor's ideals and his blood is a terrifying thing.
A sigh escaped me. “There has never been any circumstantial evidence to suggest that Vanora shares her mother’s ideals. You two were cordial and Syrin reigns in Braavos with her husband. Daemon has gone to Pentos.”
Excuses to give my brother time before the dragons descend.
His hands curled around tables edge, “Your Gra-”
“No. No, I-” I ran a hand over my face in distress. “I will not have any of this. I am trying my best to secure peace for Rhaenyra’s reign. Any news involving those in Essos must be true acts of treason - not suspicion.”
“Husband? I-”
Alicent stopped, looking like a spooked deer. “Oh, I. . .I did not know-”
“It is no fault of yours, daughter,” Otto replied coolly, though the vein in his forehead would suggest otherwise. “I was just leaving.”
Alicent soothed my worries with a few pecks and a soothing reassurance that such troubles were of the past.
That this should fade away soon.
If only. . .
Daemon haunts every council meeting until my hand slams against the table, startling the Lords surrounding it. “You’ve spoken without the presence of your King?”
“It was a matter that you’ve refused to listen to, Your Grace. I was acting out of the betterment of the Realm,” Otto excuses once more, his face showing no signs of remorse for his actions.
Lord Beesbury adds to the conversation, his voice in support of me. “I am in agreement with the King. The Essos Targaryens have never been hostile-”
“Did you forget the time Syrin threatened to burn down Oldtown?” Mellos recalls the first close call we have had with them since she had fled on Aegar. Otto had formally written to Princess Syrin requesting she strip her title and stop using it, as she was technically no longer a Targaryen.
In response, she sent a letter to Oldtown saying she would burn down The Sept and the forests if such a letter from a Hightower was ever written to her again.
Lord Lyonel scoffed in retaliation, “That was Syrin. The woman is nearing her eighties and clearly not of sound mind. Princess Vanora showed us no hostility, nor did her husband, whom I must remind you we are in a trade agreement with.”
Endangering our trade agreements with Pentos was not in the cards.
“And Braavos,” I added, silencing them. “We are lucky that her husband did not drive up the prices of weaponry or the very fine jewels I know you all buy for your wives and daughters.”
The swords we craft in Kings Landing are nowhere near the hardened steel and silver of the swords in Braavos. It is a wealthy city, possibly ten times as wealthy as the Lannisters, and deals with trade swords and assassins.
Not only that but Syrin married the Sealord of Braavos, who controls the Iron Bank.
Who could say no to us if we needed money for war.
“I have to say I am in agreement with Lord Lyonel,” Lord Beesbury intervened. “Majority of our grain comes from Pentos and more recently, the wine, fabrics and jewels from Braavos. Proclaiming Prince Daemon as a traitor for simply seeing family is not a crime.”
Otto had no one on his side that day.
Ensuring his allegiance with his family and soon, an attempt on my children.
“In fact,” I began, “We should invite the Lady Aelinor, Lord Maegor, Princess Vanora, and Prince Anteros. Let us stop this petty fighting at once and clear the air-”
Otto was quick to intervene for the blood of Maegor the Cruel in one place angered his heart. “She will not accept, Your Grace. Vanora said her terms were-”
My hands slammed down onto the table, rattling the marbles. “Then they are Targaryens once more! Seven Hells, Otto!”
It was done.
My Hand was no longer acting in the interests of the Crown but for the sake of his pride. But as an aging man, I refused to see it.
And so with proof of their legitimacy restored, a raven was sent.
Princess Vanora and her husband would come to Kings Landing for Aegons’ third name day, along with her sister, brother and their own children.
“Otto?”
I caught him conversing with Lord Jason Lannister privately in his chambers. It was two days before they would arrive, and if I had noticed the subtle slip of paper exchanged, perhaps I could have prevented such a ghastly horror in the near future.
“My King, I was informing Lord Jason that we would have no need for Lannister wine at the festivities.”
Lying right to my face.
With Lannister gold and the order of The Hand, conveniently with Maegors bloodline all collected in one place, blood would be spilt.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 6: BLACK BLOOD
Aelinor
Kings Landing unsettled me.
Westeros as a whole unsettled me.
Since the days of Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya and Rhaenys, I have always had one question —
Why didn’t they change anything?
Visenya and Rhaenys were more than The Conqueror's wives. They were Queens and dragonriders.
And yet women of Westeros are still seen as nothing more than cattle and breeders.
Visenya didn’t work to establish law for ladies whose husbands passed. Once a man was slain or fell ill, his wife would be sold off to the next bidder should she still be able to birth another child.
Or rather another son.
So, I did it.
In Essos, if a man passes, then his money and estate pass to his late wife. The children will receive their own fortunes when they turn of age and a lady will not be pressured into marrying again.
That night when the law had been passed, I received a lady summoning me late at night. Maegor was ever at my side but I urged him to keep his distance.
“My lady? Whatever do you need?”
Our estate was further away from the main castle for a reason, so whatever she came for must have been urgent.
She fell at my feet and wept. Her wails pierced the walls and awoke the children, but my attention was entirely on her. In between her sorrowful cries was a thank you. She trekked all the way here to thank me for the law because now she would not have to remarry as her father was planning to.
She was eighteen.
Had her first child at sixteen.
I would not be like them.
Selfish women in power who had done nothing but live for themselves.
Valyrian women — Targaryen women.
I’d be better.
And so would my girls.
“-linor? Aelinor!”
I blinked rapidly once I realized my name was being called. Maegor stared at me openly, concern etched in his green eyes.
“What? What happened?”
“You spaced out again. Is something the matter?” The quiet laughter of Grayce in the gardens called to me. She was now four and played with Prince Aegon, both giggling and squealing as they chased each other with wooden swords.
I gave a slow nod. “No. . .No, I’m alright. Just. . .It feels odd, does it not? Being in the same halls as our ancestors.”
Kings Landing smelt of shit and the men were somehow worse than that. They openly eyed me like a prize, fingers itching to touch my golden hair until my husband gave them a look that sent them fleeing.
His eyes traveled the lengths of the stone walls and up onto several of the paintings. Each one was a different depiction of either Jaehaerys, his wife, his children, Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys. . .who did nothing.
“I hate them,” His head whipped to me once he heard the croak in my voice. “They all receive so much praise, and for what? Conquering? Having babies? Keeping the peace? Women in Essos are treated better and these halls, it’s like-”
A tear fell from my lilac eye, “I can feel their pain. The women who have died here, the girls who suffered. . .I can feel it, Maegor. I can feel so much of it.”
Mother called me a sensitive child, but really, I felt like an outlier. An empath of sorts. It was like I could feel the pain of those in our past from the haunting tales and the obvious sadness that lingers here.
“Ābrar, ñuha prūmia,” Maegor soothed, pulling me into his arms.
And it was always him who understood. He never judged or mocked me for always being so caring, even to those I did not know.
And below was my Grayce. She was the stark opposite of Naela. Grayce loves to fight and wrestle, cause any sort of mischief she can and begs for Maegor to train her in combat.
Hence why we are watching their play date despite the chaperones.
“Save me, Grayce! Save me!”
It warmed my heart to see Grayce playing the part of the protector, and Aegon for allowing it to occur. Most boys near her age would rather be the knight than the damsel.
Her blonde locks were wild as she pointed the sword at Aegon’s own dragon, Sunfyre. The thing was smaller than her own dragon in Braavos, but that was because they have a dragonpit here.
Sunfyre spurted the smallest bit of flames, which caught onto the wooden sword. She quickly tossed it away into the bird bath, jumped over Sunfyre before grabbing Aegon's hand and running around.
“Run! Run from the dragon!”
It was adorable to see.
“It is times like these that I am grateful she’s allowed to be a child,” Maegor pressed a kiss to my forehead, lingering as he inhaled the citrus scent of my hair. The sweet scent reminded me of the candied lemons we had been snacking on during our stay here.
Addictively sweet.
I am even sure that it’s all the girls have eaten since we arrived.
“Even when she can’t be, she has us.”
He snickered, “And Visha.”
Visha is her dragon that was born in the cradle with her. A deep crimson red with golden eyes that matched her intense spirit.
I’m sure if Visha were here, she would have protected her.
Because the last thing a mother wants is to see her daughter decline but insist she’s only tired from playing.
It was still a few days before Aegon's nameday and yet the wheels were already spinning for our demise. Whilst we had slept, her stomach writhed and kept her in constant pain until her body tried to cleanse her of it.
And during a small garden party, a woman cried out and gasps followed her. By the time I had seen it, it was too late.
Grayce lied on the floor with a deep gash in her forehead. The infection within her had started to win and she collapsed, her fragile skull colliding with the edge of a table on her way down.
How did I not see it? The way her eyes had begun to sink into her skin, the way it paled even though the flowers bloom in the sunlight. I felt like the worst mother alive as I shouted and pushed away the courtiers, cradling my daughter to my chest.
“Grayce?! Grayce! Grayce, wake up! Wake up, lovey. Wake up for mummy,” My voice scratched and my throat felt like it was closing in on itself as the blood oozed from her head. Maegor had to wretch my hands from her once a young Maester arrived, begging for me to hand her over for proper care.
And in the corner of the party that had now stained the tulips red was a club footed man, smiling as my heart broke.
Notes:
I PROMISE THE CHAPTERS WILL GET LONGER SOON. I just want to make sure the background is established as much as possible
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 7: THE LOVE OF AN INNOCENT
Vanora
Grayce was fading fast.
Her breathing was hard to keep track of and even harder with the Maesters bumbling about. She was sickly pale once she was rushed in and Aelinor was still inconsolable and restless.
And I was looking for a culprit.
With one look at her, I could see myself.
Only this time, it was on purpose.
When I was only three, the maids had left me in the gardens to wander. They were watching but none of them intervened as I ingested several flower petals; after all, how would a simple maid know that a hydrangea can be lethal to a child?
An innocent and beautiful enough flower to be grown commonly in high-born houses, and as such, blossoming here as well.
She looked exactly like me before father had managed to get me the proper medicine.
Only here, they were giving her Milk of the Poppy. It was used often for pregnancy pains or for a stomach ache, not fucking poison.
“Lady-”
The table toppled over after I had pushed a Maester out of my way and towards my niece. I paid no more mind to their gasps and urges for me to leave, quickly opening her mouth.
Under her tongue was a distinct blue that stained my thumb once I swiped at it.
“Vanora!”
And put it in my mouth.
Honey and licorice root, but there’s a bitterness here. . .
“Someone has attempted to kill my niece,” I announced, grabbing a quart of water and urging Grayce to sit up. I urged her to drink, despite her laboured breathing, and began to force it. She sputtered and coughed, but it eventually began to go down.
Maester Mellos approached carefully and quietly since I was a sprung as a feral cat.
“My Lady, what makes you think this was poison?” I was somewhat grateful he wasn’t trying to denounce my statement.
“Laboured breathing, vomiting, nausea, paleness, and what regular tea would stain your tongue blue?” I continued, “I have seen this before when I was a child and your younger Maesters are all acting like idiots.”
My voice was measured despite the burning anger in the pit of my stomach. The sounds of Maegor attempting to calm down our sister left an ache within that needed to be squashed.
At least the Septa had enough brain to bring me more water, rushing as if my very gaze might burn her feet.
And I couldn’t even point out just who had done it. Tea is always served by the kitchen maids and if any of them had the backbone to poison one of our own, they’d high tail it and run. Immediately blaming the Hightower cunt would do me no good because of our newly refreshed titles.
But my bones are restless because I know it was him.
He gave the order and had the gaul to do it to a child.
So, all I could do was demand the basic human decency of them to listen.
“Brew crushed mustard seeds in warm water and give her a cup — nothing more. Ensure she is eating bread and milk to absorb the toxins, but only allow her to vomit if she needs it. If I hear of anyone shoving a finger down her gullet, I will have you swallow your own tongues.”
No one objected.
Anteros refused to leave Vayna’s side and checked on her every minute, making her irritated and impatient because she just wanted to play with little Helaena.
Naela and Vayna were still too little to understand the implications of what was happening to Grayce but Rhaenyra knows it will be a tale that will haunt them if–
No.
No, she will live.
I do not know what I would do if my sister’s child succumbed to this sickness. It would forever plague her and she may even drown in her sorrows. And to make it worse, those who would wish to see us in such a state would take advantage.
And if Vayna were next?
The whole of Kings Landing and Oldtown would burn.
I wouldn’t care about the names in which they’d call me because a mothers grief knows no bounds. I could send this world into chaos and Anteros would be leading the armies as Lillox sends them into the dark ages of man.
There would not be a blade of grass untouched by fire.
“How unfortunate,” The cunning voice of Otto Hightower cut through the tension in the air. “She was so lively this morni–”
A chair fell.
Vayna screamed.
Anteros had him pinned to the wall in an instant and his elbow was pressed against his windpipe. “I should have your balls severed so that your line ends with your pathetic whore of a daughter. Mayhaps your grandson should become a eunuch?”
Otto struggled against his hold until Anteros pressed his elbow further against him. Vayna fled to the corner of the room, frightened at the scene before her.
“Darling, go to Alicent and see Aegon,” I knew the boy would most likely not even be with her, but it was an excuse to get her out. She nodded and ran quickly.
Which would give us more time with him.
“I will have your tongue,” He swore, but my husband was unbothered by his threats.
“You don’t have the balls to do it yourself,” I circled him, “So if we checked your accounts, would there not be a handsome transaction to a lesser man to poison my niece?”
His jaw clenched and he swallowed, knowing exactly what we would find. He could rat and say we threatened him, but the King would be too curious.
For as horrible as he is, Otto Hightower is a smart man.
And smart men do not disappear without anyone noticing.
“Here is what is going to happen. . .You will turn over the insolent worm you hired and we will take care of them. If you do not, some horrid accident may befall you too.”
He knew I was a good liar, but when my Valyrian gaze kept a choke hold on him, all he could see was a woman willing to do anything to protect her own
His eyes darted between us before confessing it to be a prisoner — a murderer. A man who had his tongue cut out so that in case he was caught, he couldn’t point to Otto setting him up.
A bit too cliche for my taste but the man screamed and wept as we came before him. It was like he knew he had been caught, plus judging by the fact that he tried to run but only resulted in several City Watch guards dragging him back to the palace.
Lillox enjoyed her supper that night.
Grayce was still bedridden the entire day with her parents at her side.
And despite the warnings of the Maesters, Naela had crept into bed with Grayce.
So did Aegon.
The young prince was wounded by the sight of her and had Aegon at her side, clutching her hand whilst Sunfyre curled on her belly.
Vayna, however, did not take to see her cousin.
She didn’t want to see Grayce. She kept shaking her head and clung to Anteros, burying her face into his neck.
I didn’t force her.
Viserys did not say much other than the slow apologies leaving him.
And Alicent became what I feared — cold.
She flinched when Helaena would cry, she kept her gaze far from us and only ever spoke softly. Even when Rhaenyra expressed her sorrow, Alicents hands would curl into fists and leave behind bloody imprints of her nails in the palms of her hands.
“Why don’t you come with us for a while?” The suggestion to Rhaenyra threw Alicent and Viserys off guard. “Pentos is a short flight from here. It would break Vayna’s heart not to see you.”
Viserys looked to Alicent.
She said nothing and looked away.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
More blood pooled from the young Queen, trapped in a cage of her father’s making.
Rhaenyra said yes.
This would only be months before Viserys grew tired of his daughter being unmarried and would then wed Ser Laenor Velaryon. Our invitation grew stale and got ‘lost’ at sea, or that is what Otto Hightower told us.
Then the real war would soon commence when a boy born with pale skin and brown of hair would be proclaimed the heir after Rhaenyra.
It would be then that we had to make a choice —
Tell Viserys the honest truth that the boy was not Laenor Velaryons, exposing Rhaenyra’s adultery and disinheriting her.
But Maegor’s line doesn’t work that way.
We would be steadfast in Rhaenyra’s claim, ever the shadow that kept the snakes at bay and silenced the wagging tongues of the courtiers.
I am sure that without us, real war and battle would have ensued.
And without Vayna, the Targaryens of Essos and the Targaryens of Westeros would have forever been divided.
Notes:
this will be the last chapter in Vanora's pov because now it'll go to Vayna
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 8: A LESSON
Vayna
“Again.”
Bisa iksis lēda.
But I could not deny the woman before me or I would find myself scolded by my mother. Again.
With a sigh, my eyes flicked upward and found hers. “Syrin Targaryen flew to the East in 44 AC after the death of King Maegor Targaryen when Queen Alysanne Targaryen had attempted to marry her off. She then proceeded to be courted by Lord Eryx Rogare, but they only wed in 50 AC because Princess Syrin is eight years his senior but Lord Eryx Rogare persisted. Then they lived happily ever after–”
“Lady Vayna!”
“-Oh, right, only after she gave birth to my mom, uncle and aunt.”
Mistress Iman would sooner drown me than admit I have advanced far beyond my studies.
Sure, I could continue to prattle on about my grandmother’s rule in Braavos, how my aunt established an order that widows would inherit their husbands money and not have to remarry.
But I am proudly stubborn.
She huffed through her nose, “You are so lucky that your father will not permit me to lay a hand on you.”
“You are lucky to be teaching a Targaryen who is so well versed in the histories that would have oppressed her.” And an equally sharp tongue for an eleven year old. It both amused and irritated mother and father, especially now that we would be taking flight soon.
To Westeros.
King's Landing.
A place I have not been to in years and do not really remember.
Mistress Iman continued prattling on about the succession crisis in Westeros and how it was a bold move for King Viserys Targaryen to name his daughter as his sole successor.
Cousin Rhaenyra.
The last we saw of her was two years ago and Jacaerys and I took to flying on Aerion. I had asked him where his dragon was but he told me Vermax was still too small to fly with, confusing me further to know that they keep the dragons in a pit.
But we had fun and Lucerys preferred to cling to Rhaenyra, watching as we’d fly over the length of the beach and back. I miss the–
I flinched after feeling a soft object being thrown at the back of my head. Whipping around, the familiar golden locks of Naela and Grayce peeked out from the open door.
“Come on!” Naela mouthed, waving me over whilst Grayce kept her eyes lasered in on Mistress Iman. Her back was to me and fully concentrated on the board, and so I took the chance.
By the time she had realized I was gone, the wind rushed past her and whipped her dark curls around her face. Two dragons flew right past her on the balcony, one red and one white.
A procession of laughter escaped us as we heard the familiar shout of my name and only soared higher into the skies. My grip on Aerion’s reigns tightened, following Visha and giving the small folk a show of colors in the sky.
Naela’s arms tightened around Grayce as we dove downwards, pulling up at the last minute with a command in Low Valyrian.
Naela’s dragon never hatched. The egg was stone cold but she never said she was upset about it, saying she was meant to be a pretty princess and not a dragonrider.
“My hairpin!”
Naela screeched against the roaring winds as a golden pin vanished below.
Grayce only shrugged, “You have ten more like it!”
“But that was my favorite!”
Mother always said that the only thing that can bring down the House of the Dragon is itself, and was determined to keep us all close. No treachery or sly whispers in the corridors. Just honesty and trust.
Which is why Grayce, Naela and I made a pact.
During the night of a full moon, Naela snuck a blade from the kitchens and we all made a blood pact — no man would ever come between us nor make us surrender, for we are Maegor’s blood.
The more we learned about him and the rest of our family across the waters, the more I want to say “good riddance”. Maegor was horrible, but mother always tells me to never say anything bad about him in front of grandmother or she’d be cross.
Grayce said he wouldn’t have liked us.
Naela only said, “Good.”
Me? I cared not for the opinion of the man.
Of any man.
Besides father and uncle, the voices of any other male go through one ear and out the other. As far as mother is concerned, the only voice of reason has been her heart and her mind.
And above all else, to trust my instincts.
So to say that the Lords and Ladies of Westeros would despise me was an understatement.
Naela turned her nose up, “It smells like shit.”
Grayce didn’t reply. Her eyes watched the windows of the carriage like a protective mother hen and a hand fisted her gown.
Grayce had not been the same since she’d been poisoned.
She demanded to be trained by The Second Sons themselves, but uncle wouldn’t allow it. First, she’d have to train with the city watch, and they would see from there.
So far? I would say she’s better than her mother, but that’s only because when it comes to combat, auntie prefers the skies.
Our welcoming party was also very under-whelming. Only three Kingsguard escorted us into the palace and the rotting smell only began to fade because the harsh scent of citrus and honey wafted through the corridors.
“Pentos doesn’t smell like that,” Auntie sniffled, her nose wrinkling.
“Because our citizens don’t need to piss in the streets,” Mother added, her features distorted into disgust.
Courtiers looked upon us with disdain and wonder, admiring the features they had not yet seen in Westeros. Sure, the Lannisters have golden hair, but Grayce’s shone like the early morning sun. Naela was perfectly poised with her hair styled in a Lyseni fashion, and pearls braided into my hair.
Spoiled rotten.
And nothing about these Hightowers interested me.
Queen Alicent Hightower was just as mother said. Her posture was perfect and it looked as if she might shatter if someone were to touch her. Her sons? Equally as uninteresting, especially the eldest.
Aegon.
He openly ogled Grayce like a piece of meat, his eyes wandering her while she attempted to keep her own gaze forward.
Pig.
“Se bisa iksis skoros mōbagon kepa daor jorrāelan?” A small fit of giggles escaped Naela and I while the adults conversed with the King and Queen, as well as Princess Rhaenyra.
This cannot be the same place that mother fears.
It’s horrid.
Then —
“What was that?”
My head snapped to my right to see Prince Aemond.
He’s shorter than I thought.
My brows furrowed together for a moment, “What?”
Naela leaned in closer as Prince Aemond spoke again. “Your High Valyrian is. . .strange.”
Ah.
So, with my head clocked to the side, a sly smile made its way onto my lips. “Because in Essos, we speak Low Valyrian, my prince. Or is that not the standard for a Targaryen?”
Mother warned me about what the other men here may think of me – how they’d attempt to belittle me. They may even use smaller words because I’m young, unaware of my vast education.
His alabaster skin flushed pink, earning a stifled giggle from Naela, who then added to the conversation. “Yes, dearest cousin , do we speak too lowly for you?”
“I was merely saying-”
Queen Alicent interjected, saving her precious boy. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and forced a polite smile on for us. “Girls. Is it not highly inappropriate for you to come here and belittle your blood?”
“It seems you are in the wrong,” Her stare was piercing, along with the Kingsguard who lingered only a few feet away. “Your son was highly insulted by our usage of Low Valyrian, which is the common tongue in Essos. Should we not be the one’s being treated with the utmost respect?”
Prince Aemond mumbled just loud enough for me to catch it.
“That’s not what I meant. . .”
She only gave us another strained grin, “Enjoy yourselves, but remember that ladies of your stature behave with much more decorum in Westeros.”
With a sharp jerk of her chin, Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon followed her in suit. Prince Aegon looked back once more, his gaze landing upon Grayce, who easily stared back until he was forcefully dragged elsewhere.
“ Princess Grayce,” Naela taunted before Grayce rolled her eyes. “As if I would lower myself to. . .him.”
Westeros was about to get their first true look at the Targaryens of Essos, and word would spread.
The girls are callous, thoughtless and utterly rude.
That we invite challenge, which is a nuisance for most Lords, but an absolute thorn to the Queen.
And we would be here for a month. . .
How utterly terrible for the men.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 9: HATRED IS TAUGHT
Vayna
Naela had her face permanently scrunched in disgust at every Lord who spoke to her.
Grayce kept her chin held high.
And I would openly dismiss them.
So yes, they all hated us.
Well. . .the stupid ones did.
“Lady Vayna. . .” My eyes looked up to see a man with two sons flanked at either side of him. One wore a golden cloak while the other steadied himself against a walking stick. “I am Lord Lyonel Strong. Your mother and I are good friends.”
Mother gave me a list of Lords and Ladies she trusted. They were one’s she confided with and made trade agreements with during her first time here.
Lord Lyonel Strong is one of them.
His club footed son, however, is not.
“Lord Strong,” I gave him a curtsy — practised and perfect. “Have you seen where she’s gone?”
While my auntie and uncle stuck close to their children, mother had vanished. She could trust me on my own, but I felt like a stranger here.
“I fear not,” He took a measured step back. “But may I introduce my sons? Harwin Strong, Commander of the City Watch. Larys Strong.”
Well, someone has favorite’s.
“My Lord, you flatter me–”
Not really.
This is gross.
“-but I am not in the marriage market, especially not for someone who could be my father's age.”
But Lord Strong waved off my remark with a short huff of a laugh. “Oh no. No, although it would bring my House much honor, I do not think it appropriate. And I am sure your own mother would have my head for such an insinuation.”
That she would.
My hands wrung together as I tried not to look nervous in front of them.
I feel like a mouse in front of cats.
No one here would ask me about my opinion on. . .anything. All they ask is my favorite color, my favorite flower, or which Lord or his son I think to be the most attractive.
I feel small.
Lord Lyonel must have noticed my mind adrift, or he simply knows when a child is terrified of the game they have been plunged into. He leaned forward, “I know King’s Landing is nothing like home, but you have allies here. Anyone who speaks against you, either in insult or in autonomy, will not go unpunished.”
He was telling me it was okay to be myself.
That I should not allow these mongrels to push down my confidence.
Otherwise, I cannot call myself a daughter of Vanora.
“Where can I go where they do not ask me what gowns I favor?”
And he told me.
So now I found myself wandering the corridors to a small hiding spot. It led from one of the absent chambers, which was not hard to find considering the door was already open.
Sniffles led me in further and further until I was met with the face of Prince Aemond.
Soot covered his face and hair, the smell of dragon clinging to him amongst the stench of the city.
Once he heard me, he quickly wiped his face. “What do you want?”
“Nothing from you if you are to insult me again,” I wasn’t going to ask if he was okay because I didn’t care.
Prince Aemond rolled his eyes, “I was not insulting you. Your Valyrian just sounds strange.”
My first instinct was always to lash out. It serves me well in protecting myself and lets others know to leave me alone.
But I guess he didn’t deserve my wrath as much as I anticipated it.
I got closer and the calls of seagulls and the salt wafted into my nose. “You’ve never heard anyone use Low Valyrian? Not even the common folk?”
But guessing from him being a prince, he hasn’t bothered to see them. Probably taught that they are savages or mere admirers of the crown.
“Why are you crying? And–”
My hand reached out and brushed against his face, collecting a small bite of soot. “Why are you covered in ash?”
His upper lip curled as he moved away from me, pouting away. “I went to the dragonpit. . .”
“. . .Okay?”
He was getting more irritant. “I want a dragon, and not a hatchling. But. . .None of them want me.”
This was the difference in how we were raised.
Westeros and Essos both see Targaryens as the closest thing to Gods. Both revere and even fear us, or think of us as the definition of beauty with the silver hair and purple eyes. But in Westeros, you cannot be ordinary in a family of Gods.
His bottom lip trembled, trying his best not to cry again.
“Why do you want one so bad?” I propped myself on the floor, smoothing out my dress before looking up at him.
“Because I should! I’m a Targaryen!”
“Naela doesn’t have a dragon,” His brows furrowed. “My cousin. She doesn’t even want one because riding will ruin her perfect hair and she likes being pretty.”
I scooted closer, “You can ride with me. Aerion is rather protective of me, but he doesn’t mind when I take someone with me.”
He looked genuinely confused. Like I was offering to give him my dragon or like I was missing an eye. “What?” I shrugged.
“Why. . .But she’s a Targaryen.”
The insistence that she needed a dragon simply because it is the same blood that allows her to ride one intrigued me. Like the name alone meant she should come with one, like an attachment.
“Your father doesn’t have a dragon,” I pointed out.
“My father was Balerion’s last rider,” He defended like it was an insult.
I just shrugged again, “And Balerion died soon after. So, technically, he is dragonless.”
I gave a dramatic sigh before standing up, “ Buuuut if you really want one, then go ahead. Not because you’re massively insecure or anything–”
He took the bait, standing up and attempting to grab me by my arm. “I am not!”
Giggles, mainly my own, echoed throughout the chamber as I ran behind each piece of clothed furniture I could find.
“Ah!”
A shriek escaped me as Prince Aemond managed to grab at my skirts, “See? Far scarier than a dragon.”
His face turned pink, but I only thought it was because we had been running around.
But before we could continue this, the door burst open. I flinched at the loud bang before looking to see the queen herself, chest rising and falling. Her eyes lit up in fury before she grabbed Prince Aemond by his hand and forced him to let go of my skirts.
“What are you two doing?” Her voice was shaking with anger. “Unchaperoned? Do you know what others would say if they caught you?!”
Prince Aemond protested against his mother’s vice grip. “We weren’t doing anything!”
“It does not matter,” He staggered back after she reluctantly released him. Her eyes, full of hatred that I did not yet understand, fell on me. “Essos may be different, but in Westeros, you cannot be frolicking about with boys. You will endanger your standing.”
What she saw was a danger to her sons — not two innocent children playing together.
I feel so small in her presence.
I feel like a child.
I know that’s what I am, but still.
I’m not just any girl. I’m a Targaryen and the blood of Maegor.
And I will not let anyone speak to me like I’m some stupid child.
I held my chin up, trying my best not to show fear. “I am well aware of that, Your Grace. But your son needed a friend since clearly, his own brother wishes to not be his comfort.”
The Queen stared me down, “He does not need you.”
I didn’t blame him for leaving with her. That’s his mother and I always stand by my own.
The only difference, I fear, is that mine wishes the best for me.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 10: THE GREATER CHALLENGE
Vayna
Aegon followed Grayce around like a pup.
And she entertained him as such.
Grayce preferred the silks and finer eastern linen. Aegon did not notice.
So, he brought her a cotton gown in the color green. The neckline hung low so that the lusty boy could have his fill, the design was basic with hardly any patterns and worst of all?
It did not pair with shoes or a necklace.
No matter the fact that he is a prince, Aegon would be laughed at if he tried to pull such a courting gift in Essos.
Grayce took one look over it before her upper lip twitched in disgust. He was smiling widely, looking like a proud dog before she shattered his hopes.
“This is cheaper than a Lyseni whore.”
I had never seen a boy so shocked as she turned with a huff and walked off, nose high. Naela would have given her opinion loudly and further mocked him if not for the fact that she was never around. She preferred the company of Helaena because, and I quote, “she is quiet and the boys here are too loud, ugly, and smell like fish.”
Mother gave it a week before a knight or peasant confessed their undying love to her.
Me?
I was busy. . .
. . .in a tunnel.
Several tunnels.
They all began to look the same rather quickly, but I refused to admit defeat.
I had heard of the stories of Maegor’s Tunnels and wanted to see for myself. Specifically, I was curious if they may lead me to the Holdfast or the kitchens.
I hope the kitchens because I’m getting hungry.
A haunting chill ran up my spine once my lantern went out.
“Shit.”
“Vayna?”
Once my eyes met the same calm in these ruined halls, my heart began to slow back into its rhythm.
Aemond approached with a small lantern of his own, “What are you doing down here? How did you. . .?”
“Bribed a maidservant,” I shrugged, “and my lips are sealed.”
I figured that any woman who has dedicated her life to working in this place must know the secret ins-and-outs. Whether it was for the safety of the royals or themselves mattered little to me.
“But why. . .”
I took a large step closer. It was close enough that even in the low light I could see the freckles that dotted his face, and the hue of darker violet in his eyes.
“. . .are you down here?”
It had been two long days since my arrival. Two days of agonizing socializing, smiling and finding the best way to escape. Any time I would so much as glance in Aemond’s direction, it would send the queen into a fury of disdained glares and her upper lip curled.
So this was nice.
He mumbled it the first time, so I couldn’t hear him.
“Hm?” I leaned in closer.
“Lady Floris Baratheon. . .Mother keeps pushing me to her.”
Now it was my turn to look disgusted.
“I feel the same,” I crossed my arms, “A Riverlord keeps preening his son to talk to me, but he’s shy.”
How lucky that we had just run away from greedy hands and ended up in the same dusty hall together.
Aemond straightened himself slightly, “Blackwood? The boy stares too much.”
I tilted my head, “At what?”
“You.”
The sudden declaration and slight clench of his jaw had me reeling. I caught his hands curling into fists, and his chest puffed like a lion.
“O–oh.”
My gaze wandered anywhere but him. I could feel my heart speeding up, almost like a horse was running in my chest while heat rushed towards my face.
We breathed in the silence for the next minute before I made the first move. My feet moved before my mind could begin to tell me no and then I stood before him, practically breathing in his exhaled air.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” The words were a whisper.
Forbidden.
Some would say I was tempting him.
In Essos, they would say I am only using what the Gods gave me.
Aemond’s features remained stern but his breathing was heavier, so he could only nod.
“What if. . .What if we were to marry? I mean, you like me and it would stop the others from pawing at us.”
He choked, sputtering his words out as he avidly tried not to die from his own shock. “Ma–marry? You. . .But you live—I live-”
Aemond Targaryen could not fathom such a pretty girl who sought him not for his blood, but simply because he is himself. An easy solution to both our small issues that would create a rift in the court.
We were so little.
Neither of us thought through what we were truly saying.
“Pentos isn’t smelly either,” I gave him reasons to leave. To come across the sea instead of residing in King's Landing, like any normal marriage goes. “The salt is heady in the mornings and the sunset is so pretty. I think you’d like it.”
But not all things are so simple.
We gathered my mother and the queen for this special announcement. Mother kept her gaze on us, sharp and immediate once I grabbed his hand.
Alicent visibly tensed.
“We’re going to get married.”
We were met with an immediate reaction.
Alicent’s glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the ground. The Dornish wine splattered onto the edges of my dress and the tension in the room flipped.
But before the queen could levy insults towards me, mother spoke up. “Vayna, what–what brought this on?”
Mother knew best not to express her true emotions. The confusion and then the immediate dread settling into her stomach. She would rather die than see me become chained to this wretched family, and the mere thought of me remaining in Westeros to become a breeding tool churned her stomach.
I simply grinned, “Aemond likes me! And I think he’s charming.”
Aemond wouldn’t look up.
He knew that he would then see the anger in the eyes of Alicent Hightower. Not only was Rhaenyra excused of all her actions, but now her beloved son wanted to marry me — a bastard of Maegor’s line.
A black stain, according to her.
Because true name or not, we would never be equal.
Mother was thinking beyond the petty dreams of a child.
Which is why she said–
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
The queen moved her head so fast that I thought it might snap off. “What. . .?”
“Well, as any Lord would do with his daughter, I will do with mine,” She smiled like the cat that got the cream. “It would assure any Hightowers that all ill intent from our side is gone. The bond between our Houses would be mended, and just think of how Prince Aemond might flourish in Pentos.”
It wasn’t the marriage that bothered her. Not truly.
It was because Alicent Hightower could see the wheels in my mother’s head turning.
Her beloved son, only second to his elder, would not be a simple Lord or a prince.
He’d be a consort and never anything more.
What else could be so embarrassing than losing a son with nothing to inherit to a daughter with the entirety of Essos at her feet?
“Mother–”
Aemond was taken by his wrist, torn from my grasp and dragged towards the door. I cried out for him in confusion, but she only held on tighter.
The queen, in her pride and foolishness, swore this;
“You will never have him, or any of them. I swear this upon my own grave.”
Mother only kept smiling.
“Don’t get my hopes up.”
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 11: HOW CAN WE GO BACK TO BEING FRIENDS?
Vayna
That discussion was months ago.
We had not received an invitation back since.
Mother had even attempted to bring the matter up to the king, but she only told me it was a no.
So I was mature and accepted that. . .before walking away with a trembling lip and refusing to speak to anyone so I could weep in silence.
I do not know why, but the thought of Aemond with anyone else made my heart burn.
I hated it.
It made my stomach hurt and it felt like someone was squeezing my heart. Like the queen herself was telling me I would never, ever, ever be able to be with Aemond.
But I knew why.
And if I asked mother, we would have two very different answers.
She would say it is Westerosi politics. That Aemond being betrothed to House Baratheon would give the queen more sway in court, or for new alliances.
I may be young but I’m not stupid.
My cousins and I all saw it.
The subtle glances, the stares, the whispers of impure Valyrian blood, and that ghastly name.
Waters.
A bastard surname.
It does not take a genius to know that we are either admired or hated.
And my lack of white or blonde hair made me the latter.
Grayce and Naela look like Targaryens. They are otherworldly, and even without a dragon at Naela’s side, she has the attitude and softness of a Targaryen princess.
I felt–
I feel like a fraud.
Viserys, Rhaenyra, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, grandmother — all silver haired.
All Valyrian.
I have lavender eyes but even with a dragon, I felt like I was a lie.
“Ao rūsībagon dȳñē.”
You’re making the sea upset.
“Skorion jevi, ziry daor nyke jemēbagon issi."
Maybe because I don’t belong here.
I didn’t even have to look at her to know she was confused. A few beats of silence later, she sat beside me. Her hand traveled up to my hair to rake her fingers through it, but instead of leaning into it, I closed my eyes and leaned away.
“Va–”
“Why don’t we look like them?”
The weight of our legacy had descended upon me, and as a mother, she blamed herself for not shielding me.
“You look like me. Like your kepa,” Her hand cupped my cheek, brushing over my skin with her thumb.
So, I recalled our history.
“Grandmother has silver hair. She looks like a Targaryen, and then she married grandfather,” My eyes met hers. “Which is why your hair is gold.”
A small flicker of hope passed her lips in a sad smile.
“Yes. My grandmother’s sister, Alysanne, had hair like mine–”
“But I’m the only one with dark hair. I’m not a Targaryen.”
Mother’s voice was shocked, “Vayna!”
“They all thought it!” Most ladies my age would only need to fret about boys or dresses, but we are drowned in a legacy that dates back to Old Valyria. “Unless there was anyone back in Valyria who had dark hair.”
She couldn’t find an answer for that.
“You–” she steaded my face in her hands to ensure I couldn’t look away. “–are a Targaryen by blood. Through my blood. Maegor is the truest Valyrian that could have sat the throne and his determination, his blood thirst, and his dragon blood flows through the both of us.”
But all I could think about was how they looked at me.
Snide glances and remarks that they would never dare utter in my mother’s presence.
Her words were fierce, pressing her forehead against mine, “I love your hair. It’s a piece of your father. It does not make you less than.”
Like the Gods of Old Valyria themselves were listening, Lillox released a soft roar that caused the ground to tremble. Aerion mimicked, of course, trying to sound as big as the dragons he follows when I cannot be with him.
Then, she brought up a whisper I had not yet heard of:
“Is this because of Rhaenyra’s boys?”
It was my turn to be confused.
Once she saw that, she cursed under her breath but knew she could not back out now.
And she told me the truth.
How Ser Laenor did not have a taste for women but I could never tell anyone of this, to which I crossed my heart. How Rhaenyra needed heirs and since Ser Laenor could not physically do it, she found her own happiness elsewhere and had Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey.
But the father of the prince’s is Ser Harwin Strong.
Which means that in accordance with Westerosi and Essosi law, they are bastards.
“The world has crucified women for finding their joy elsewhere — especially if such happiness is not found within a man,” It was here I would learn the gravity of the situation. “I myself was not pure when I met your father. I had no tolerance for men because they always thought themselves the superior sex, even when the laws we have today are made to prevent us from being in our rightful place.”
She needed to make me into a woman.
Not a princess.
Not a lady.
Not even a queen.
Because time and time again, those positions have proven useless for us.
Mother reached out and held my hand, “the Magisters told your father that wedding an impure woman would bring down his social standing. That he would be marrying a whore. . .yet that same whore now holds the most powerful position in Pentos. This whore commands their sellswords because she oh so conveniently was raised to know that she has a dragon, and men are scared of things they cannot control.”
Her voice was a proper melody as she spoke while her gaze remained fixated on the waves.
“But it is not Lillox they fear anymore. It is me because I know the wife of every Magister, every whore they keep secret from their families, every Lord or merchant whom they are indebted to, and how quickly it would take to topple their name. . .”
My mother became the smartest woman in the world to me at that moment.
“You have a smart mother, a brave father, and a very terrifying family. Silver hair or not, you are brilliant and that is why they whisper about you. One day, you will have the power to walk into any room and everyone will have no choice but to look.”
She would be right, of course.
The realm of Westeros had not seen a Targaryen with dark hair up until Rhaenyra’s boys and I.
But they would have to deal with it, one way or another.
Especially once Prince Aemond Targaryen lost his eye.
It was awful.
You cannot comprehend the pain of another unless you feel it yourself, or see it. Unfortunately, our invitations to the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon were ‘lost’ to us by Vaemond Velaryon.
I would give anything and everything to reverse that day. I wish I was there to stop the madness before it could truly spread and fester, but mayhaps there was nothing to be done. Rumours of bastard blood had begun long before my arrival and a mere Lady of Pentos can’t stop it.
So what did I do? I was too young to command a ship to sail for King’s Landing, nor would I have been allowed.
So I flew.
As soon as I heard my father discuss how Aemond had lost an eye because Lucerys Velaryon struck it out of his skull, I fled. I mounted Aerion and went straight for King’S Landing because the thought of Aemond in such agonizing pain made my heart ache.
And when you give a girl a dragon with little to no supervision, well. . .Not my fault.
It was then that Queen Alicent realized she could not keep me from her son and it fucking terrified her.
The Kingsguard were torn between stopping me from running about the halls like a mad woman trying to find the Prince, but also knew that if word got out that any of them laid a finger on me, their families wouldn’t see the first snow touch the ground.
“Aemond! Aemond, I heard! I heard what. . .happened. . .”
I mean, what does a child expect to see? Certainly not his bloodied sewn up eye with a Maester tending to it. To be honest, I don’t think he was expecting me to fly across the ocean for him.
I wasn’t scared.
But I wasn’t speaking, so not a good sign to him either.
My mouth hung open like a fish as I got closer, but he kept his eye away from me. The Maester continued until Aemond shoved his hand away, and then took that as his sign to leave.
“I heard. . .I’m–”
“How did you get here?” His voice was harsh and closed off, but I would not be shaken by it. I only stepped closer.
“I flew. . .without leave, so my parents are definitely angry,” It was only then did his eye snap back up to me. “But I don’t care if they ground me for an eternity. You–I would not have let that happen if I were there. There had to be a misunderstanding!”
Aemond scoffed, “I stole Vhagar, or did your bastard cousins not tell you yet?”
I stiffened and my hand came up to my own hair, suddenly washed over with an insecurity I had tried to shove down. He noticed, but said nothing.
“They. . .It matters not,” My hands came up to his face, pulling rather roughly but younger me had to get my point across. “Are you alright? We have the best Maesters in Pentos, even better than here! You can ride Vhagar to Pentos with me and–and we can ask your father. The mornings are coolest if you sit atop the palace, and I am sure it will fair well for the pain.”
But with a quivering stiff lip, he said, “I ride the largest dragon in the realm.”
I only blinked.
“. . .That is not what I asked.”
“It answers your dumb question.”
“The only dumb person here is you! So what if you ride Vhagar?! I wouldn’t care if you rode a fucking pig! Are. You. Okay?!”
That is what changed everything.
The once feared Aemond “One-Eye” would no longer hold an unshakeable resolve for the Greens' cause. History was re-written that day, and the Hightowers would lose their most lethal weapon.
Now, Westerosi history may write that I was a sorceress who charmed him into my bed to turn him against his kin. They may even outright call me a whore, but it’s not politics that turned him from Green to Red.
It was love.
A heretic princess who sacrifices goats to the gods of Old Valyria and a green prince who bows to no one.
And it started with the blood of Maegor.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 12: FIRE AND BLOOD
Vayna
3 years later. . .
From the moment of my first bleeding, letters have been sent across the realm for my hand.
House Greyjoy, House Bracken, House Blackwood, House Mormont, House Lannister, House Dayne, House Tyrell.
But I only ever considered two.
House Targaryen.
House Martell.
It would be extremely advantageous if I was the one to join our Houses. We would create a new port for Dorne exclusively, gain support from the Prince Paramount the day I would make my rise to Princess of Pentos, and a salt in the wound for the King.
A bastard line of his house joining in marriage to the one place the Targaryens couldn’t conquer.
Oh the irony.
“My lady, your new robes,” My Blood Hand, Lady Aanaya, kneeled to expose the blood that latched onto my robe.
“They can be washed. For now. . .” She handed me a dragon glass blade. It was pristine and cool to the touch, blessed by Aerion’s fire and I hoped it would be further blessed after this.
I stepped forward and sliced my hand, tearing the layers of flesh and the sting made my hand clench. Still, it was nothing compared to today — my coming of age ceremony. Mother, Aunt Aelinor, and grandmother were all a few feet before me in similar dark robes.
The ceremony was only performed if the older women believed the youngest to be ready. It is said when you cut your palm and make a sacrifice to The Fourteen Flames, you will be blessed by two of your choosing.
Vhagar was my first choice.
Meleys was my second.
And the vermin before me screamed into his gag like a squealing pig.
I was about to commit my first ever human sacrifice to the Gods of Old.
The mere thought brought me liberation. Adrenaline pumped wildly through my veins and I felt so light, ignoring the weight of what I was about to do. If the Lords and Magisters knew about this, they would never see me become their new liege princess.
So it’s a good thing these sacrifices were eaten by the high tide.
“For your crime of committing adultery and rape, I sentence you to death. Your blood will bleed into the rocks and caverns below, blessing the earth with new beginnings. The fire that will consume your flesh is a mercy granted by the dragons. The waters that will envelop you is a gift, for you should consider yourself lucky,” His body trembled as I poured my blood onto his chest.
Then held up the blade, maneuvering to stand ahead of him.
Even though my red veil, he could see the droplets of lavender that were my eyes. It was a thrill to know it would be the last thing he would see as I grabbed a fistful of his hair.
“You should be grateful,” my brows raise, “for your body is being gifted to the Gods of Old instead of wasting away in a dungeon.”
He began to writhe and thrash as the blade came in contact with his neck. Mother took a step forward to attempt to help but grandmother held up her hand, as if to say, let her do it.
My speech in Low Valyrian was impeccable but quick as he made it hard to keep him still. “Ny-Nyke jemagon kesrio sȳrī Vhagar hen Meleys, ēdruta ao iā perzys. . .kesy ivestragī ao rhaenan iā prūmia bē naejot jikagon ñuha rytsas se riña ēdruta Valyrio Ānogār, se nyke vēttan sȳndror Maegor.”
The blade sliced his throat clean, nearly decapitating the man. The choking and gurgling only lasted a few seconds before he succumbed and a wave of awe hit me, staring at his blood retreat from his body in reverence.
This is for you.
Lady Aanaya traced his blood onto my body, beginning at my cupid’s bow and drawing it down my throat. The heady stench was like a fresh fire signal to the dragons, or it was as if Aerion knew it was his time. He clawed at the entrance from above before his head slithered in, nostrils flaring before his full attention came to me.
My palms surrendered upward at my sides, “Hen Vhagar, hen Meleys, hen Āeksia Valyrio Ānogār–”
And my eyes drifted to the dead sacrifice.
“Dracarys.”
I nearly forgot to step aside in time before his flames filled the air, igniting brighter and hotter in the cave space. Lady Aanaya grabbed my hand, forcing me to press myself against the wall while the body turned to ash.
Hopefully, the Martells will not mind my rituals.
The Magisters and Lords were reassured that the most we did in dedication to The Fourteen Flames was a mere cut of the hand, to which they were settled. Some still eyed us with weariness and suspicion, but empty accusations get you nowhere.
Grandmother’s voice broke me from my staring state, “You handled it well.”
I huffed, “He was strong.”
“The stronger the sacrifice, the more meaning behind it,” She kissed my cheek before watching Aerion slither back up through the skylight, trilling in his a pitch tone.
Lady Aanaya began to gather water to usher the blood out quickly while I attempted to figure out my gown issue. “I do not know about you mother, but one does not stain their dress in this magnitude by simply slicing their palm.”
“The back entrance, darling,” She kissed my cheek. “And if anyone asks, just say Aerion ate a sheep in front of you.”
Aerion likes pigs though. . .
Pentos had changed much in three years.
Father had received a medal for holding his seat the longest. The threat of dragons seemed to have long ceased since the real threat was if either of my parents felt like being ‘too honest’ with a Magisters wife that day.
I attended every meeting, along with another new guest. The son of Lord Markus Kippa, Antonius Kippa, started to come for the last year alongside our Master of Laws. I knew what they were doing — grooming him for my position.
But if I was so bold as to say it, they would all move to release my father from his seat or call us tyrannical.
Because that title is strictly voted upon.
Not inherited.
But I know it’s mine.
I have studied the patterns of the Dothraki for the last three years and found out that they had slowly increased their price of passage. If Pentos, or Mereen or Lys, did not pay then we would be subject to a Dothraki raid.
The payments sky rocketed, and they certainly did not deserve them.
Not when such money could be used to lower the taxation rates upon the small folk. They do not struggle as much as those in Kings Landing, but it would help in my campaign when I run for the position.
If the people love you, then what else is there?
The boy was being fawned over after he expressed how he gave money to a poor woman and her son.
“What was her name, my good sir?” I was seated right across from him and his eyebrow twitched at how I interrupted his conversation.
I continued, “Surely, you had to have gotten her name. . .?”
You are fake.
Faker than the Hightowers, only more translucent.
Antonius coughed into his hand, “It-It was Ni. . .ni.”
I gave father a look, like, “are we seriously entertaining this moron?”
“Well,” I folded my hands together, giving him a sweet grin, “I will be sure to visit when I am free. And should this not be a concern of ours?”
Our Master of Coin, Magister Cramon, leaned forward, his grey beard brushing against the table, “A concern, my lady?”
With a nod, I began, “Yes! If a lady must beg on the street for spare coin from a Lord’s son, surely there must be more? She is a mother. A mother will always do everything in her power to provide for her child, and becoming a beggar surely is not the finest she can do unless she has nowhere else to turn. And I know for a fact that jobs have increased by three percent these past fifteen moon cycles.”
But I reminded myself that I am still untitled on this council and turned to my father.
“My prince? Surely this bears looking into?”
He withheld a proud smile and gave a nod, “Yes. Yes, I believe it does.”
Antonius sent me a glare that would normally send others running, but his father isn’t the most important Lord. If anything, it would be beneficial to my campaign if he threatened me.
But again, he had to stick his nose where it did not belong.
“Lady Vayna, how does the marriage market look this year?” He had them all staring at me with the usual hopes of getting rid of my presence.
Because ladies marry up, and when that happens, she is sent to live with her husband.
I fanned myself, “Oh, absolutely haunting. Half the Lords of Westeros wish to tie me down and make me a broodmare, sending me gifts and food. Utterly taxing to go through, but there are only two I am considering.”
Silence.
Because obviously, they wanted the answer so they could spread word, which turns into gossip.
“But, I shall only consider if the man is willing to move to Pentos. Westeros is vile when it comes to the rights and freedoms of women, and I refuse to subject myself to such,” Antonius flexed his hands and jaw in irritation.
This council wouldn’t be rid of me so easily.
And if Antonius acts like this further, he will eventually snap and I can claim my seat.
As I changed in three years, so did my cousins.
Grayce has been granted the privilege of being in the City Watch of Braavos, bearing herself a light blue cloak with two blades at her hips. She receives many fair marriage offers but her heart is elsewhere, set upon someone she writes to by letter only.
Naela is still Naela.
She is known for her soft beauty and preferring tourneys, feasts and many festivals rather than settling down. Her gowns are the best silks and satins from Lys and Mereen, jewels from Yi Ti, and ladies-in-waiting are from the best families in Braavos.
Rumors spread of her maidenhead being long gone, but no one in the family would become irate for we know her tastes do not lie with men, so babes out of wedlock are out of the question.
“My lady?”
Just as the meeting finished and stood up, two letters were handed to me with a whisper of who it was from. One bore the seal of House Targaryen and the other of House Martell.
One born of love.
One born of power.
It was only a matter of time until I encountered both — charming, smart and impeccable.
But only one could make my heart race with the name alone.
Prince Aemond Targaryen.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 13: A CALL TO ARMS
Aemond
My nameday was a cause for celebration.
The King’s second son finally turned sixteen, expected to begin to look upon ladies who fan themselves in my presence. The celebrations they herald in my name are a folly and only to give mother more room to assault me with letters.
House Tyrell, House Lannister, House Wylde, House Mormont, House Greyjoy, but of course she saves the best for last. . .
The Baratheon.
There’s too many of them to keep track of.
How can one man father so many girls?
“Aemond.”
My eye snaps up to meet my mother’s face, which has soured since she realized I was not listening.
“Can you not pay attention to this? These are fine girls, all within a year of your age too.”
“They are not of my taste,” was my simple reply, my face devoid of any emotion.
Each girl has a flaw. Tyrell pays too much attention to her beauty, Lannister has been preened to perfection — if perfection meant silence and subservience. Wylde and Mormont have ghastly upbringings, and the Greyjoys are dull.
“There is one. . .”
Her face brightened up in false hope, “Floris Baratheon?”
“Lady Vayna.”
And all of her plans fell.
Mother was always meticulous. She ensured Aegon married Helaena against his wishes, and everyone remembers the day well.
Aegon was drunk. Drunk out of his mind.
He wept before the ceremony and begged me to let him go, that no one would miss him. I knew the girl he truly wanted to marry was not up to mother’s standards, but for all the things Aegon had done to me as a child, this was my revenge.
He wed our sister, but didn’t touch her.
Despite being so drunk, he could not take our sisters’ maidenhead. There were no sounds of pleasure nor did his cock even rise.
Mother was infuriated, grandsire was embarrassed, but Helaena was the most pleased. Aegon would refuse to even kiss her and Helaena got what she wanted — a quiet life.
“Aemond,” her voice lowered, her nails digging into her palms. “We have been over this.”
I hummed, “have we?”
As far as I am concerned, only mother has been over the topic. She would go on about how Essos makes improper ladies, how it is rumored that she practices the faith of Old Valyria in animal and human sacrifices.
And how undeniable it is that she would never leave Pentos for Kings Landing.
She snarled, “yes! We have! What do you see in her? She is the blood of Maegor, the very same mad king who attempted to dismantle our House. Her mother and father are vile and have surely raised the girl to be cocky and self righteous.”
If mother ever knew of our letters, she’d send me to become a Sept.
“No son of mine will ever marry into that bloodline. I am in charge of who you marry–”
“You will sooner get ten grandchildren from me and Vayna than any other union,” I was growing impatient with her prattling, my jaw flexing and my voice a growl.
Her eyes became misty, huffing with disbelief. “And. . .what? Floris is a beautiful woman. You will deny yourself the happiness of a child? Deny the throne a lineage?”
As if you were happy with us.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to point out how as soon as I claimed Vhagar, she no longer came to me to wish me goodnight. How she no longer took pleasure in my company over prayer, but instead, would retreat to Heleana.
Am I no longer as green as you hoped?
Am I too Targaryen for you?
“Lady Vayna was the only one to ask–”
“You will be married when Lady Floris is of age. I am giving you three years to accept the fact that Lady Vayna Targaryen will never be part of this family so long as I am breathing.”
The door slammed on the way out, her footsteps heavy and angry. Mother would prefer me to marry a lowly lady rather than Vayna.
She’d sooner see Aegon on the throne than us happy.
Her plans to push Aegon towards the Iron Throne were obvious. Grandsire attempted to preen him for the role, but Aegon dodged him at every turn. Wine was now his only solace, for he said the whores could no longer soothe the ache within him.
No matter how hard I tried, I could not find it within myself to think of another woman.
Floris Baratheon is beautiful, mayhaps even prettier than Vayna, but she does not compare.
Vayna is a true blooded Targaryen in a way that makes me shudder. She practises in the faith of the Fourteen Flames, an Old Valyrian religion that ceased to exist after the Doom. Animal sacrifices became taboo and are only practised across the Narrow Sea. Blood and fire given to Gods that the Faith would lament is unholy.
She is Maegor’s kin, but it is a blessing and a curse.
Maegor despised the Faith.
The Seven are the Gods I look to for guidance and prayer. Vayna has grown with stories of her kin that not even we know, and perhaps admires him a great deal. In our letters, I am too afraid to ask what she thinks of him.
Fearful that she will admit her own hatred for my Gods and how she despises mother’s House, wishing for them to be wiped off the face of our world with the only power Maegor believed in —
Dragons.
I remember how she said I reminded her of him in a letter. I kept it safe in my books, pulling it out when memories of that night at the brothel would plague me.
“. . .like Maegor, you claimed a great dragon when you were older. It is not a feat one can dismiss.”
Vayna is perfect because she is the image of a lady of Old Valyria.
Vayna is perfect because she cares about me.
She is perfection incarnate because she did not care if I went the rest of my life without a dragon.
She saw me.
I have never defied my mother. I have forged myself into a weapon, honed myself into a prince of the realm. Vayna has not seen me in three years but I know our time apart has only sweetened my heart for her.
Her latest letter was pressed against one of my books, hidden where a servant will not accidentally happen upon it. We do not write often in fear of interception, and so her words are a gift in itself.
To my one eyed prince,
I hold a growing fear of my own station. A horrid boy sits at the council with half of the magisters favor, calling for the seat once my father grows too old to toil over his title.
It is not an inherited position, but I know in my heart it belongs to me. I know the people, the conflicts between neighboring borders, and the price that the Dothraki demand.
But I do not wish to spill my conflicts upon you. Grayce has joined the City Watch of Braavos, and Naela is ever the spender with an ear for rumors. My brother nears two and it makes me wonder where the time has gone. Mother and grandmother are eager that Dorne has taken an interest in my hand, and I find myself accepting their offer to come to Sunspear.
I am nearing the age to wed in Essos and have far succeeded what I dreamed. My only gripe is love. Will I come to like a son of Dorne? Are the Dornish as romantic as they say and you will soon hear rumor that I was swept up only hours after my arrival?
Only time will tell, but I think back on us wanting to wed as children. Of course, your mother would never allow it.
Until I fly Aerion back to Kings Landing, then I eagerly await your next letter.
This was the only letter I burned.
Dorne.
The fucking Martells.
As the flames consumed the letter, my hands curled into fists and my breathing grew with my own anger.
She could not seriously be considering a proposal from Dorne. No.
No, she cannot.
The Dornish and us are at odds. They are the only ones Aegon the Conqueror could never call to heel.
But begrudgingly, I acknowledged the advantage. She would be the first Targaryen to wed in Dorne, into the line of Nymeria of the Rhoynar and Mors Martell. With a Martell at her side, she would surely gain the seat of her father with ease and a Dornish husband would align with everything she believes in.
My mother’s words haunted me and for a moment, I considered driving my blade through her heart.
If she were not breathing, father would not begrudge me for marrying Vayna. The man might even smile at me for once.
The jealousy consumed me and Ser Criston became my victim, battered and bruised until the sun fell.
Chapter 15
Notes:
I KNOW! I KNOW! I'm so sorry for the lack of updates but they will more than likely be once or twice a month since i have transitioned to a full time uni student and im also working and trying to finish my novel. The next chapter will be much longer with the families all gathered together and two pairs of lovers reuniting
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 14: THE START OF BETRAYAL
Rhaenyra
“Vayna.”
The girl's name had been a blessing and a curse on this family. Then again, so was Syrin when she first fled Westeros and word of her rebellion spread like wildfire. Syrin was spoken of with loathing and her daughters were viewed like whores.
“What of her?” I looked at Daemon. He held a letter and the seal was orange, meaning the Martells have sent a message to my family across the sea.
His lips twitched upwards, not even hiding the mischief curling in his stomach. “She sends for us, it seems. A celebration for her younger brother and at the behest of her father, we have been invited.”
Indeed, the letter was our invitation to Pentos. The third nameday of Marion Targaryen, son of Lady Vanora and Prince Anteros. It would be a week-long celebration with sweet cakes, the finest roasted pig, and accommodations for those who would attend.
The only issue was. . .
“. . .taken the liberty to invite my other kin. I know of the animosity between blood but mayhaps this week will prove fruitful for both sides. . .”
“She has sent word to those green cunts as well.”
I sighed, “I cannot blame her. She was not witness to that night and she has been forever fond of Aemond.”
Daemon only scoffed, sitting on our bed where Viserys laid. He was born only a few moons ago and still, Daemon looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Aegon nagged and whined for our attention, of course, not fully understanding the kind of care a baby needs.
He combed through his silver hair, eyes visibly soft.
“I think it would do us good,” I walked over, “and it has been long since I have seen my kin. Vanora was my constant and gave me what I needed.”
She could never fill the void my mother left but she made it smaller.
Vanora and Aelinor are what I imagined Visenya and Rhaenys to be like. Where Vanora sits at the table for politics, Aelinor is a seasoned dragonrider. Both are mothers who raised their children in similar ways but neither are as crown hungry as Maegor turned out to be. Aelinor spoke with a softness that made you melt and Vanora is the lioness who will openly bare her fangs to those who dare speak against her children.
Whether they know it or not, I took to them far better than my own father. The families they’ve both built are based on love and honor above all, though many here would say they lack the latter.
“If I am to get away, I do not want it to be another political move,” Daemon grumbled, much happier and content to remain on Dragonstone. “And boys swarm her like dogs. All just wait for the chance to piss and stake their claim.”
Another subject that the boys and Daemon have in common - a hatred for the politics of marriage.
It is not like they detest the idea entirely. They know their places in the realm as princes and none of us may skirt our duties, but it is the endless letters and false words of sweetness they could do without.
Which is another reason to get away.
Sure, the ladies of Pentos will fawn over them, but we will be secure in the palace.
A week away will do us good.
Little did I know that this week in Pentos would break the tension entirely, and even break up a marriage.
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