Valyrian Heritage | Yan!Mom Rhaenyra Targaryen, Yan!Dad Laenor Velaryon

the daughter

synopsis: or, a small blurb about a rumor of another child, and how geta must deal with his daughter's anxiety. (1.8k)

contents: implied murder, implied infanticide, geta being geta, anxiety, grabbing, fluff and angst, mentions of sex, short n sweet a/n: a softer post after these last two hard hitters! meus puella means my girl!

masterlist!!

there was unease in palatine that had carried into their chamber.

geta could see it from his chair, multiple scrolls laid out in-front of him on a table, but he could not tear his eyes away from his child. his child who is adamantly avoiding him.

at first, he had just assumed she had gotten in slight trouble with a servant. geta had created a strict set of rules for his child when she was outside of his sight, and his child had created a small habit of breaking them on occasion. perhaps she had wandered away, or she had gotten herself in trouble by clambering up trees once more.

whatever it was, he had assumed it would pass.

they had settled into their chambers, and he had prepared himself for the endless chatter of his child, recounting her day with vivid descriptions. instead, she curled herself into a seat shoved into the corner of the room, and promptly refused to talk.

they had sat there for hours, on opposing sides of the room, never breaking the silence. his child was curled into the cushions, wrapping linen around herself as she stared at the wall, refusing to look at him.

-

the sun sets when he strikes.

striding across the room silently before grabbing an exposed shoulder, quickly turning his child around before she could pull away.

she fights him for the smallest moment before she's bawling, throwing herself into his arms, threatening to throw him off balance as he clutches her back. she shakes in his arm like a linen in the wind, choking on her cries as he tries to soothe her.

but nothing seems to work as she balls up fistfuls of his toga in her hands, choking on her cries as he lifts her from the cushions, carrying her to the bed. she seems to cry harder once she's placed on the linens, twisting in the sheets as she scrambles to leave his arms, face planting into a pillow.

anger snaps in his stomach as he watches his child, blatantly avoiding him as she curls into the pillow, shoulders shaking. she wraps herself in linens, refusing to look at him once more.

geta has half the mind to drag her back by her ankles, to grasp her cheeks and demand her to stop this absurdity. instead, he settles for a glare as he walks back to his chair, lowering his eyes to look at her.

she clamps her eyes down, eyelids flickering as she flips over once more, showing her back to him once more. anger rises once more, clawing at his chest, but, ever the patient man, he sits. turning his attention to the scrolls in-front of him, he tries to tune out the sniffling.

eventually, she stops sniffling, and her shoulders stop shaking.

he creeps across the room, rolling the scrolls back up, lying a gentle hand on her shoulder, waiting for the smallest sign she's awake. it never comes.

he's careful to strip the linens away from her, letting her head roll back onto the pillow, facing the ceiling as she sleeps. his stomach clenches at the sight of her reddened cheeks, lined with the remnants of tears.

he rests a hand on her warm cheeks, lying a hand on the top of her chest as it rises and falls with steady breaths. for a minute, he just sits there, feeling the rise and fall underneath his hands before he's tucking her back into the linens.

-

in the morning, geta awakes before his child.

he watches her sleep, curled into his side, a ball of warmth compared to the chill of their chamber, wrapped in the linens. she's enviously peaceful when she sleeps, unbothered by responsibilities and duties.

she slowly comes to, twisting and turning away from him as she stretches her arms, blearily blinking at him. a small smile is sent his way before he strikes, grabbing her by her shoulders and yanking her back.

she's lying on her back as he throws his arm across her stomach, pinning her to the bed as she rubs sleep away from her eyes. she's painfully tense, eyes darting every which way as she squirms against his hold.

tears start to brim at her waterline before geta leans down, resting his cheek against her shoulder, letting her wrap her arms underneath his.

"father, please don't leave me," his child is sobbing once more, wildly gasping for breath as he holds her tighter, concern growing, "my child, why would i ever leave you?"

his voice is deeper and scratchy from sleep, but it carries nonetheless as his child cries harder, avoiding his gaze.

"there are.. whispers of a concubine with child," a hiccup escapes her, "they say she has birthed a son. a son who will take my place.”

geta knows that's the only reason why his child is sobbing uncontrollably. he and caracalla had been swarmed with alleged children after he revealed their daughter, and endless concubines had swarmed palatine, claiming pregnancy with their child.

yet, their claims held no truth.

geta had hidden his daughter for four years. four years where he refused to share his bed, four years where he had refused to allow anyone into his chambers. his time was devoted to his child, and there was no need to tarnish the place where she slept.

geta hadn't laid with a woman since he accidentally impregnated the mother of his daughter. no other woman had seen his chambers, and no woman would ever see them in the future.

"and then, then she told me.. she said that once her son is revealed, you won’t want me anymore. that they'll be the only ones you love, and that I won’t matter, and you'll-," another hiccup, "you'll send me away to live by myself by seaside!"

it's silent in the bedchamber as he stares at his child. her eyes have blurred over with tears as she twists in his hold, thrashing her head from side to side as she cries.

his grip goes harsh as he grabs her cheek with a free hand, squishing her cheeks together as he stares at her.

"child," he struggles to keep his cool as she avoids his eyes, glancing to the ceiling, "you really think i'd let you leave? that i'd let a bastard take your place by my side? rome belongs to us, meus puella".

his child sniffles, tears sliding onto his hand as he holds her face in an unforgiving grasp, trying to catch her eyes. when he finally does, his daughter cries harder, her arms tumbling around his neck.

it's an odd position, as he keeps her cheeks in his grasp, not letting her object his say.

"tell me has been telling you these lies," for a minute, he worries his child might shake her head off.

she cries even harder as she shakes her head rapidly, yanking his hand side to side as she shakes, murmuring objections as she twists side to side.

"enough!"

his entire hand seems to span over her face as he forces her head still, stopping her from flailing. his rings dig into her skin as he muffles her sobs into his palm, bringing his other arm up to cradle her head into his chest.

-

eventually, she soothes herself. she's murmuring an apology into his palm as he smooths out her hair, shushing her as tears spring back into her eyes.

"meus puella, just let me know their names, i won't do anything to them, i just want to know where you heard such an ignorant rumor"

for a minute, his child falters, and his fingers twitch in anger before she looks down, "it-it was caracalla's concubine, camillia, she was holding a baby and talking to one of your servants"

her voice is taut with exhaustion, scratchy and raw from her crying, but geta can hear the unease in her voice. a heavy silence hangs between them, anger igniting in his chest.

the thought of a woman, a concubine no less, belittling his child's worth ignites anger within him. how dare she—how dare any of them—doubt his devotion?

"which servant?" he demands, his voice low and steady, deceivingly calm. “tell me their name.”

his child is too smart for her own good, as she catches onto his anger within seconds, widened eyes reflecting fear of his temper. despite this, his daughter knows better than to lie, "it was tuellis, father, but he didn't know better!"

he feels her flinching as he rises from the bed and stalks toward the door. “stay here, meus puella,” he commands, casting one last, soft look at her. but he knows he can’t fight this battle with gentleness, not now. not when his child's peace with him could be shattered at any misstep from a concubine or servant.

“father, please!” she cries out, her voice trembling as she grips the edge of the linens, listening to his command despite her panic. but, he shakes his head, unwilling to budge.

-

when geta returns to his chambers, three people are dead. he's void of blood this time around, choosing to not dirty his hands with blood as camillia, her son, and tuellis were killed.

he leaves the bodies to the servants, allowing his guards to return to their posts before he's back in his bedchamber, staring at his child. she looks right back at him, worry streaking her face, "father?"

"my beloved," he kneels at the side of the bed, resting a palm on a warm cheek, "even if i had more children, you would always be mine to keep. nothing could take you away from me"

her voice wobbles as she speaks, closing her eyes against the warmth of his palm, "i just want you to be happy father, i didn't mean to worry you with the rumors"

geta sighs, “i am happy, my child,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, his heart swelling with love. “i am happy because i have you. you are my daughter, my only love. nothing else matters as long as you are content.”

his daughter's eyes peek open, slits of blue finding his as she scoots closer, wrapping her hands around his other hand. he's not too sure how long they sit there, letting palatine function outside of their chambers.

but inside these chambers, there is nothing to harm his child. there is nothing to harm him. so, he pulls back from his child before returning back to the linens, letting the familiar weight settle itself into his side.

his hands wander to her hair, letting the soft strands engulf his hand, scratching his nails into her scalp. his child melts into his side, lying in the silence of their bedchamber as the outside world passes.

Costumes designed for Marie Antoinette (2006)

Aurelia Targaryen the bastard princess pt.2

Her relationship with her closest family members...

. As Aurelia grew, the more she found herself more inclined to keep herself distracted. She found comfort in a needle and thread- pushing and pulling the silver thorn between canvases, mimicking a memory from long ago. Craving the comfort of sewing clothes and cushions in her little home, but instead of mending ragged shirts and socks, she weaves stories with silken thread and beads.

. She'd often find herself accompanying Heleana, the two soft-spoken princesses lost within the comfort of silence and dance of fingers and needle. Heleana would embroider silver winged butterflies and spindle legged spiders, whilst Aurelia would weave pictures of dragons and flame. The two little twins playing nearby, tended to by a maid with cast down eyes. Helaena was a kind company, her odd dreamy mutterings were nothing but distant bird songs to her ears. She could not understand, but she listened and appreciated it.

. The training grounds often bored her, you see. She would often feel inclined to watch Jace and Luke train with their clashing swords, perched upon a balcony above like a ruffled dove, her gleaming dress of seafoam and gold surrounding her in a cloud of soft fabric. Her heart had warmed over the years towards the two princes, as she could only stay bitter and sad for so long at so many people. Her heart grew lonely, and those two found themselves wiggling their way inside.

She would often capture their glances towards her like she were the sun, their smiles just as bright. She'd smile and blow playful kisses, finding laughter as Luke would pout and Jace waving back. However Aemond, the one eyed prince, his intense smouldering glare would startle her- causing her to shy away in the end. She found no amusement in the clash of steel or the shouts of men, the kick of dust and rubble polluting the air. Nor the willowy man who'd glue his eyes to her like she were some spectacle.

. After all, she had her half-sisters to tend to.

Rhaena and Baela.

The twin girls would sail upon oceans to visit, always bearing tender expressions and gifts. The older girls would spoil her, almost as rotten as Rhaenyra would. Treasures of pearls and sea glass, jewelry fashioned into shapes of seahorses and dolphins and shells, all placed upon her throat in golden chains. But Aurelia could only look forward to being in their arms again, that was the greatest treasure she could ask of them.

Their hair of spun silver and gold almost seemed to tangle into one as they'd hold one another, Aurelia finding comfort in their familiarity and embrace. They were kind to her as a child, the closest she had felt to ever since she had been taken. The adults never seemed to understand, always blinded by their own greed and power- but the friendship between children is simple and pure.

. Rhaenyra was a warm and kind woman. Warm hands and eyes, embracing and gazing at her with wholehearted adoration.

Often would the silver haired woman preen and tend to her curls of silvery gold locks, picking at braids with gentle fingertips and brushing down the fabric of her dress to look presentable, before smiling happily and kissing her daughter upon her brow. Syrax is just as attentive, bowing her neck of gold scales to coo and trill like a mother bird- huffing her smoky sulphur burnt breath over her face, her snout nestling within Aurelia's palm contently before retreating to her riders side.

. To them, she was a soft little dove. Letting them bestow her with pretty things for her nest of solitude, gleaming silk threads to embroidery with, or shimmering gowns made of the finest fabric and jewels. It almost seemed to weigh her down, like chains. Pretty chains made of gold and gems are still chains.

But to Daemon? She was just as spiteful and stubborn as she had been the day he took her. She seldom even looked at him. Him and Ceraxes both frightened and angered her.

Her breath would catch in her throat whenever the blood scaled beast would chirp and coil close to her like a viper, his eyes beady and predatory like a shark. She was just as much in his hovering possessive glare as her father's, whose eyes seemed just the same. Watching. Nitpicking. Controlling. Yet he'd still speak to her like everything was simple and plain, like she wasn't under his thumb. She'd curse and curse him in her mind, under her breath, grinding the words of his name between her fingertips into dust- as if it would eradicate him entirely. Daemon was aware, of course he was. But he couldn't care less. Seeing her all dolled up in pretty fabrics and looking clean and healthy kept him docile. No matter how much his daughter would spite him with venomous glares and pursed lips every time he'd forbid her from riding her dragon without him accompanying, or simply leaving the castle to walk upon the beach without a guard trailing her heels like always.

i imagine Corlys + Mushroom would’ve been something similar to Stefan Baratheon + Patchface whereas Corlys perhaps stumbled upon him during a voyage across the Narrow Sea and purchased Mushroom’s freedom to bring back to court just in time for the reader’s nameday celebration. and she spends most the day laughing at his antics and jokes much to some of the family’s displeasure. it’s Daemon who warns Viserys that the dwarf will be a bad influence and Viserys goes to brush off his brother’s concerns but Alicent much to everyone surprise back him up on the claim as she stares in disdain as the reader and Mushroom are taking turns attempting to throw blueberries into each other’s mouths. any words of worry fall onto deaf ears as the king relishes in the sound his his daughter’s laughter ringing through the feast hall. when the celebrations come to an end, it’s Corlys who offers Mushroom a lockbox containing enough gold to last the boy ten lifetimes, all to remain in the reader’s company. once Viserys hears that Mushroom intends to stay, the king order’s a room and handmaiden readied for him at once.

I love that! Imagining Mushroom looking at Alicent and Daemon glaring at him when he's having fun with the reader knowing full well he has the protection of the king.

Yan!Parents Alicent and Viserys Headcannons (Platonic)

(Forgive me for any mistakes this is my first time)

Mention of death, suicide, obsessive, possessive behavior, manipulation, unhealthy father, force pregnancy, and not good writing.

Pairing: Platonic Alicent and Viserys × female reader

To be honest Alicent was looking forward to the arrival of her first child well Viserys was excited. She was still young to have a child but hoped it was a boy for Viserys duty.

When she first gave birth to you and hold you...she felt like she was at the end of the world. Childbirth hurted is what she always said but when she get to see you put in her arms she couldn't help to smile in joy.

Viserys wasn't mad that she gave birth to a girl but he was happy to hold you in his arms. He looked up at your lilac eyes, a combination of his white hair and Alicent brown hair he just couldn't help to cry a bit.

They both swear to themselves to always protect you and your innocence. They turn extremely protective when you grown up close to your marriagable age. Alicent wouldn't let nobody have you. You are HER child and nobody is going to take you away from her even if she have to manipulate you in the process.

Viserys wouldn't let NOBODY Absolute NOBODY disrespect you not even Rhaenrya or any of his family. He feels like he own you, like he's entitle to you since of his inner dragon (per Viserys saying). He would get rid of anybody that do wrong to you, he would even have his guards kill someone if you demand it.

Alicent wants to do as she says. She wants to control you (kinda like how her father did) and not really follow in her footsteps but for you to have a better life then her. She would go a little mad if you get her depending on how mildly it is. If it's a paper cut you'll get caring Alicent if you are seriously injured then you get crazy mad Alicent.

If you want any suitors then they would go through serious questions about them and their house and many other things. If you really like your suitor then they let you marry them only on one rule and that's to kill him if he hurt you in any way.

They would go thick and thin to do anything for you and I mean EVERYTHING. You want this? You can have it! You would get spoiled anytime they can get stuff. Now your suitor on the other hand....

They are just like your mother and father. Another hand to deal with but maybe a less crazy one. Oop nevermind he tried to kill Aegon and Aemond because they was kinda plotting on stealing you away.

He did forcefully get you pregnant and when he heard he was SO happy about it....a little. His plan kinda backfire now you are just giving your baby more time then giving him time with you.

Jealous Boi until you actually give him time in which they just melt in your hand.

Your parents on the other way is happy to have a grandchild despite Alicent having Aegon marry our Helaena and having children. Alicent and Helaena like to make things for them and Viserys just loves playing toys with them. Your brothers are jealous that they don't have their sister love anymore.

When the war started Alicent hid you away and wanted to protect you even if it cost her life. She would do anything to make sure you're safe.

IF WE NEED MORE FROM YAN MOM RHAENYRA, PLEASE.

❝ 🐉— lady l: I need it too, anon T-T so I made this little hc of her, it was short but I hope you, my dear readers, like it!! Forgive me for any mistakes. <3

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, overprotection, implied murder, unhealthy platonic relationship.

Rhaenyra never really wanted to be a mother and she always made that clear whenever someone brought up the subject of marriage and children, however she knew it was inevitable but as long as she could postpone these events she would. She just didn't expect to get pregnant from what should have been just one night of lust between two people who now hate each other. But one good thing came out of that night and that was you. She lost something that night but gained something she was sure she could never lose.

Although she was apprehensive during the pregnancy, Rhaenyra decided not to interrupt it, even though she knew full well who her real father was. She never told anyone the truth and it was better that way. She didn't think she would really be happy with a child in her arms until you were born. And Rhaenyra could finally understand why they talked so much that she would never love anyone the way she would love her own child.

When your mother was finally able to hold you in her arms, Rhaenyra felt inexplicable things. Happiness, euphoria, love and maybe possessiveness. She grinned from ear to ear, not caring about your cries, she was much more focused on how she felt. She watched you with tears in her eyes, she really felt happy to have you. Something she was sure she wouldn't do, but she was and she wasn't going to let anything happen to her precious baby.

Rhaenyra wants to be the best mother possible for you, she has done everything you ask and more. She would do anything for her baby because she just wants to see you happy. It's a fact that she would kill and die for you if need be, Rhaenyra would defy even the Seven to protect you. It is her duty to take care of you, after all, she is your mother. Everyone knows how much she cares and loves you deeply and possessively but no one dares say a word about it because they don't want to take her fury.

She is a very proud mother of her baby and anything you do, no matter how small, Rhaenyra will be applauding you with fervor and a look full of pride. It's pretty obvious from everyone's eyes who her favorite child is, although she loves all her other children, you are the one she pays the most attention to and the one she dedicates the most to. You are the one she spoils the most, Rhaenyra is always gifting you, with no special occasion, she loves to dress you up too regardless of your gender, she wants to be there to take care of you always. Your mother will bathe you in jewels and silks, all the best for her baby.

Rhaenyra is extremely possessive of you, she gets jealous very easily if someone spends too much time with her baby. It's not hard to notice when she's jealous, her hateful expression towards whoever has your attention already says a lot for her. She wants your attention for her, your mother wants you to stay glued to her at all times, even though it's completely irrational, she doesn't care. She was the one who gave you life, so it's only fair that you always stay with her. Rhaenyra can and will be annoyed and irritated if anyone spends too much time with you, no matter who it is, she is possessive of her baby and always will be. You are hers, you were born from her and will always belong to your mother.

She is overprotective and combined to her temper and possessiveness can become overwhelming to deal with. Rhaenyra is very concerned about your safety at all times, but her heart rate increases when you ride your dragon. She knows it's natural, you're a Targaryen and it's in your blood, but she still doesn't like it. And if you get hurt badly? If you fall off your dragon? Or what if it hurts you? There are so many possibilities and danger that make her anxious all the time. If it were your mother's choice, you'd be glued to her side like a doll, but she knows you can't do that, so she tries her best to dissuade you from activities that could endanger your life. Rhaenyra knows she can't protect you forever, but as long as she lives, she's sure to do it.

Rhaenyra Targaryen tries to be a good mother as much as possible, and in a way, she is. She wants nothing but happiness for her baby, but she is selfish and she wants that happiness to come true only if she is by your side. You are her baby, the child she loves so much and defends tooth and nail from everyone, if she needed to jump in front of a dragon to save you she would do it without thinking twice but at the same time she will lock you in a tower for you to continue by her side. She goes from 80 to 180 really fast in her obsession with you, there are no qualms when her baby is involved. Rhaenyra does anything for you and all she wants in return is you by her side always, like a beloved child should be with it's mother. She wants only the best for you, and because of that, she feels that no man or woman is good enough for you and they will never be, in her eyes. You don't need anyone but her, right? You will always need her, she will make sure of that, just like she will always need you. After all, Rhaenyra is her mother and mothers should never be separated from their children.

''You are the most precious thing I have ever had in my entire existence and that's why I cannot let you go.''

Necklace

c. 1775-1795

England or France

Cleveland Museum of Art

Marie Antoinette (2006) + Headpieces

Marie Antoinette's hats.

Yandere House Targaryen Headcanons (Platonic)

“Fire and Blood.” — House Targaryen.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I don’t think I’ve ever written a headcanon this big! But I liked how it turned out and I hope you like it too. I made some changes to the ones that participate, in this case, it’s Viserys I, Aemma, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III, Viserys II, Rhaena, and Baela. I did this because it’s easier to organize, but don’t worry, the others will come later! Good reading and sorry for any mistakes. :)

❝tw: yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, unhealthy platonic relationshipsa , child being taken from its parents, mention of torture, murder, war and blood.

❝🐉 pairing: yandere!platonic house targaryen x gender neutral!reader.

❝word count: +2,5k.

The way you entered the life of the Targaryen family was very unconventional, but for them, it was the work of the Seven. You were brought at a young age into the arms of Queen Aemma, King Visesrys I and Princess Rhaenyra, only a year older than you. Your origin is unknown to all who are not part of the family. Some say you were the child of peasants who lived in the Vale and on a trip there, Viserys and Aemma met you and were enchanted by you, as did Rhaenyra and decided to take you with them, others say that Daemon killed your parents and when he was about to to kill you too, he was “bewitched” and decided to take you with him to King’s Landing where the King and the Queen took you as their child, but it’s not really important anymore because now you’re with them and they don’t mean you let go.

Aemma became especially attached to you as you grew older, she really came to love you like her own child and the way she always tries to keep by her side as long as possible made that very clear. The Queen just wants you happy and well, she sees you as her “precious baby” and she can’t let anyone ruin that. Aemma goes to great lengths to see you smile, she gives you everything you need and more. She is a devoted mother and very attached to her children, Rhaenyra and you, but in a way, she is even more to you. You, like her, are very attached to the Queen as well, as she is what you know as a ‘’mother’’ and anyone who tries to deny that you are not really her and the king’s child will lose their tongue. It doesn’t matter if you are completely different from them, if you have dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin, you are their child and no one can say otherwise. Those who dared to do so lost their tongues.

Viserys also spends as much time with you as possible, for as King he doesn’t have as much free time, but what he does have, it’s all spent with you. Viserys tries to be as rational as possible in this family dynamic that has developed around you, but he can’t deny the situation they’ve gotten themselves into by stealing someone’s child. He knows it’s wrong and he feels guilty about it, but hearing you call him “daddy” makes those thoughts disappear in an instant. He’s a good father actually, always taking care of you, pampering you and protecting you as much as he can from the evils of the world which made you an extremely naive person, but Viserys won’t say he doesn’t like that innocent side of you, because he does. It just forces him to think that you must be protected forever, that you will never stop being your daddy’s little girl/boy. That you will always need him to protect you and ward off the monsters of your nightmare.

Rhaenyra is your older sister, protective and possessive of your attention. She, from her family, is one of the most possessive with you, she feels entitled to have you because you are sibilings and, therefore, she is the one who should have you whenever she wants and she always wants you with her. The Princess is the one who you are closest to in the family, only after Aemma, as she is always by your side even if you are with your parents she will still be around. She claims it’s because she’s taking care of you like a big sister would, but in reality it’s because she doesn’t want you to spend time with other people, even if those people are her parents. She loves to take you flying with Syrax and read to you, her favorite moments spent together are when you are hugging her tightly as you fly your dragon. Rhaenyra’s possessiveness is often overwhelming as you will never truly be alone, she insisted on sharing a room with you and she is very insistent. She is suffocating, your alone moments will never really be alone as the princess will always be lurking around, watching over you like a good sister.

Daemon is, without a doubt, the worst of the Targaryens. At first, he didn’t really like the idea of ​​having you in his family, as you weren’t one of them, not by blood at least. You, in his eyes, were nothing more than a stranger your brother clung to, but he would make him see the truth, after all, you didn’t even possess valyrian traits so how dare you be called Targaryen? But to everyone’s surprise and himself, Daemon also became so obsessed with you as soon as he laid eyes on you. Aemma and Viserys were worried at first about Daemon as they knew what he was like but they were relieved a little bit to see that he got along with you, in fact, more than well. Daemon is the most dangerous of all your family, he is possessive and violent, and he saw you as a property to be claimed by him, to be raised and loved by him alone. He didn’t see Viserys capable of raising you, as his brother is weak in his vision and he was too protective of you, but Daemon wants you to be able to fight for yourself and he’ll be more than happy to teach you how. He spends all the time that is available to him with you (and the time that is not his) talking about the future with you, about how he will be King and that you will stand by his side. Daemon’s unpredictable and volatile nature should not be ignored as he is more than capable of taking you away with him and he will if the opportunity arises.

Family is what you all are and what you will be forever and ever. They’re all obsessed with you to different degrees, but if there’s one thing they all agree on, it’s: protecting and loving you above everything and everyone else. Aemma and Viserys are the ones most aware of what you’re being forced to deal with, at a such young age, and they know the delicate situation and what they did in taking you away from your original family, they know all of that, but they selfishness and the love they feel so much for their precious child speaks much louder. Rhaenyra has grown up to believe that you are indeed her sister/brother, she doesn’t care if you don’t look alike, you are sibilings and that’s final, she loves you and is always by your side, you have become everything and the one person that she trust and she will be cursed if she lets you go. Daemon doesn’t care about any of that, he just wants you with him and will be offended and furious if anyone questions his intentions with you. How dare they? You are his niece/nephew and he loves you like a father and only wants the best for you, and the best for you is to staty with him, he very often quarreling with Viserys over this. Daemon has no morals and would kill many, but he would never lift a finger at you. Never.

However, after Aemma’s death, the situation became unbalanced and everything became even more fragile. You were in tears and Rhaenyra and Viserys looked to you for comfort, all three of you suffered the same: the loss of the woman you loved so much. Rhaenyra would cry in your arms and Viserys would often just hold you without saying anything, just letting the tears fall onto your shoulders. Both were coming after you for comfort, but you went to Daemon for that, as he was the only one who wasn’t shaken by the Queen’s death. To say that Daemon was happy to have you all to himself isn’t enough to express what he felt, happiness and triumph perhaps? Triumph because you chose him over Rhaenyra and Viserys to be consoled, you chose him and that only adds to his illusion that you only trust and love him. Only him and Daemon will always keep that in his head.

When Viserys remarried and to Rhaenyra’s friend, she didn’t react well to this situation. Not only did she feel betrayed by her father and friend, she felt threatened, threatened with the promise of a male heir and being replaced. Rhaenyra implored you to keep as far away from Alicent and any children she might have as possible, for she couldn’t handle the fear of losing you, especially after she saw that the new Queen seemed interested in you. Sure, you and Alicent have seen each other a few times, but Rhaenyra has always tried her best to keep you away from her friend because you are hers alone and after her betrayal, she couldn’t imagine you leaving her for Alicent Hightower. No, she will not allow that to happen. Although Alicent has more ways to reach you, as the Queen, everyone knows that Viserys is very supportive of Rhaenyra and he will do what she asks. Rhaenyra knows you are safe from Alicent, but who knows for how long?

Daemon was exiled again and he hoped he could take you with him, but Viserys wouldn’t allow it. He knew he could try to force you to go with him, after all, he had Caraxes, but after seeing that you didn’t want to go, he ended up forgetting about it. For a while. Although he was busy fighting at the Stepstones, you never got out of his head, to the point of being a distraction, even after taking an arrow, you were all the prince could think about. Would you be safe? Do you miss him? Daemon is a danger to himself and having you in his head all the time just makes the situation worse. But on the one hand, you are his biggest motivation to live and win, he wants to see the pride on his face when he comes back victorious and feel your warm embrace that he so missed.

The Targaryen family dynamic never changed over the years and the affection for you only grew stronger and stronger, to the point where you became the only one capable of holding this family together. Viserys spent the most time with you over the years, you became the center of his attention as he grew older, the influence you have on the King is superior to any. Rhaenyra even after getting married and having children, was still stuck to your side, nothing will be able to separate the two of you and your support of her is what keeps her strong, her children would eventually develop their yandere tendencies for you like their mother. Although Daemon spent time in Essos with Laena and his daughters, he still sent letters daily and when he could, he would pay you a visit. Not even time will be able to take you away from them. From their obsession.

Jacaerys is extremely overprotective of you. He doesn’t care if you’re older and even better than he is at fighting, he still feels the need to protect you as you are part of his family and Jace is very protective of his family but even more so of you. The prince developed his obsession for you since he was a child, you have always been by his side and his mother, helping to take care of him and protect him and he is immensely grateful for that. Besides, you’re like him, both different from the rest of your family physically, you didn’t have valyrian traits but you were both Targaryen and that’s all that matters at the end. He is very intelligent and somewhat manipulative and he won’t mind having to manipulate you to get your attention and approval. Jace wants to impress you, he wants you to feel nothing but pride in him and when you praise him he melts. He just loves you so much, like the rest of his family.

Lucerys, of his brothers, is the most attached to you. He is possessive of your attention and will complain if anyone else has it, as he considers himself the most deserving of it. Luke is an intelligent and adorable boy by nature. He doesn’t quite understand these twisted feelings he and his family feel for you, but he knows that you are precious and should be protected and adored, as his mother told him so. Lucerys is always seen around you, often holding your hand as he snuggles up to you, demonstrating to everyone that you belong to him, that you belong to them.

Joffrey, Aegon III and Viserys II for them being very young, they don’t understand what’s going on, they don’t understand why their family is so involved with you, why they are so protective and obsessive about you. None of them understand what’s going on, except what their parents tell them: you are their one priority. As the youngest in the family, they are, along with Lucerys, the most demanding of his attention. Little princes invite you to play and be a part of their pranks, as they know they amuse you. They’re naive, the only thing they understand is how much they love you like the rest of the Targaryens did and there’s nothing wrong with loving, right?

Rhaena and Baela didn’t spend much time with you, having grown up in Essos, they lived most of the time with their mother and father, but things changed after Laena’s death. You all met at her funeral, and you went to try to comfort the princesses. Baela and Rhaena had already heard of you, as Daemon always mentioned you when the opportunity arose, so they knew almost everything about your life and the love Daemon had for you, they just didn’t expect to be obsessed with you either. They are quite calm in their obsession with you in reality, and they accept as long as you can spend time with them in an acceptable and dignified way, you will never see them complaining about not being able to spend enough time with you. But make no mistake, Rhaena and Baela are possessive like their father and they won’t tolerate being left out by anyone.

The Targaryens are said to be closer to the gods than to men, but to them, you are the goddess/god they so adore and are madly obsessed with. You have so much power over them that people say they are your tamed dragons. This family is full of problems and disputes, but they will all be united when it comes to you. Unfortunately, the entire responsibility of a kingdom has fallen on your shoulders and your family’s overwhelming possessiveness only makes the burden more unbearable to bear. Be wise in your future choices, (Y/N), for one wrong step could start a war, a war for you.

but I'll know, I'll know

summary: At the ripe age of ten, the Realm’s Jewel was nominated by her grandsire the King, despite all the protests of the Small Council, the official Royal Ambassador; thus, her voyages throughout the Seven Kingdoms started, and yet another nickname was forged for her by the Smallfolk: the Wandering Princess.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 8.4k

warnings: language, mention of labours and pregnancies (nyra has just given birth to aegon), the ass freezing cold weather in the north, scars, nādrēsy eats people, reader is a kid with a dream (marrying cregan) but my guy doesn't want anything to do with her, mention of cannibalism, if you catch the dante's inferno reference I will give you cookies

author's note: this took me forever but it's finally here!! enjoy :)

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Aegon is born skinny and scrawny, all twitching limbs and bloodied hair, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Dear Gods, aren’t you the ugliest thing?” you say as a midwife carefully passes him to you, fresh out of your mother’s womb. You’re sure he’s at least thrice as ugly as Joff was when he was born — and that’s all on Daemon. 

You pass the babe to a nurse, who then passes him to your mother, who’s breathing heavily but still smiling. She nods to one of her handmaidens. “Go fetch Daemon, tell him it’s a boy.”

A bit after you went to your grandsire and took place in court as King’s Justice, the reason why your mother had wanted to marry Daemon so hastily quickly got out: she was pregnant, pretty surely out of marriage — not that other people aside you and your grandsire were allowed to speculate on that. 

Speaking of your grandsire, he was furious once he discovered that after all, they had really married. You had never seen him so angry, not since Aemond tried to kill you; he broke vases, screamed at the men in the council and behaved insufferably for a whole sennight, before just accepting his defeat. He still refuses to open any of your mother and uncle's letters, even after word of rhaenyra’s pregnancy got out. 

If it wasn’t for the babe, you wouldn’t have talked to your mother for much, much longer. But a pregnancy isn’t an easy thing, and even if you have every right to be mad at her right now, you will not let her die on the childbed without any support — because of fucking course Daemon isn’t there when she delivers little Aegon. He’s run off Gods know where, too scared to face another birthing wife in fear she might die. Coward. 

“I’ll head to King’s Landing on the morrow.” you murmur as the servants finish changing the sheets and exit the room. Now it’s only you, your mother and the suckling-milk monster latched onto her breast. She sends you a bleary gaze, confused, hair mussed and skin still glistening in sweat. “What?” she breathes out. 

“So that for now I can give you my help in washing off all the blood,” you reply. “And then, once they wake up, say goodbye to my siblings.”

“But… you just got here yesterday. Your brothers haven’t even seen you and you’re already running away.” well, that is true. You’ve arrived on Dragonstone after supper was already finished, and the boys had already gone to sleep; then your mother’s labours began barely after the sun rose, so they were yet to wake. Now it was well into the night, and the only person who you have seen is Helaena, who at some point came to see how things were going and offered a kind word to her half-sister. 

You sigh, knowing she would've said that. “The prisons in all the Seven Kingdoms are overflowing, mother. And once the lords heard that the King’s Justice didn’t have to be paid, they either started bringing their prisoners to the Crownlands or started asking if I could come to clean their dirty laundry.” you furrow your eyebrows sadly as Aegon gurgles, hiding deeper in Rhaenyra’s chest. “I thought we already talked about that. I have to be in the Riverlands tomorrow to clean Lord Elmo Tully’s… wastes.” 

She shakes her head, bewildered. “You don’t have to be anywhere! You are a Targaryen, you have the right to show up when and if you want to. I already don’t like the fact that father’s making you do a peasant’s job, but the fact that you think you have to be somewhere is simply outrageous. And–”

“Sorry, I worded that wrongly,” you interrupt her. “I am making myself go to the Riverlands by tomorrow. I actually have more than a prison to wipe out.” once again, it seems you have a list. “Yet another revolt between Blackwood and Bracken broke out, and I can’t wait to see their faces when they see that their beloved Lord Tully has called for reinforcements. Besides, travelling throughout Westeros is fun,” you add. “You know, I’m getting to know all the lords — or better, their heirs, the one that when I rule will sit on their thrones. I have become good friends with Oscar Tully– Elmo’s grandson.”

You look between her and the babe; there’s something strange in your gaze, something that says you should be doing this instead of me. “I am doing us both a favour, mother. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve caught the Hightowers trying to poison grandsire? I already had him change his food tester twelve times and between the change and Otto managing to bribe them into poisoning the King there’s at most a week. It’s never something I can accuse him with, though,” you scoff, “It’s always the poor tasters that I have to make Nādrēsy eat.”

You shake your head as Aegon falls asleep, your mother having tears in her eyes. “Your hasty marriage to Daemon and precocious pregnancy have angered many lords that hoped to marry into the Royal Family. I am merely trying to help our cause.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she whispers. “Having Aegon born out of marriage? Having a real bastard this time?”

You were just trying to say that chastity belts existed and there are many things to do rather than to copulate with your uncle, but surely you’re not going to say that to a woman who has just given birth. “How many years has it been since Queen Aemma’s death?” you ask. You know, but you want her to understand your point. 

“Almost nineteen years,” she quickly responds. 

You raise an eyebrow. “And when did grandsire marry Alicent?”

“Seventeen years ago.”

“See?” you point out. “Grandsire respected the mourning period well enough, yet you still resent him for remarrying and hold a particular disdain for Alicent. And you’re trying to tell me that I’m not allowed to hold against you the fact that you remarried barely four moons after my father’s death?” 

She shakes her head vehemently, “That is not why–”

“It is!” you insist. “I have all the right reasons to hold my deepest disdain for Daemon and resent you for marrying him. Why?” you scoff, “Because as your daughter, I want what’s best for you. And that’s not a man who runs away as soon as he hears that his wife's labours have started. Jace, Luke and Joff may have not been father’s children, but he didn’t miss a single birth, and he was always just out of the birthing chamber.”

“Daemon has been through a lot,” she protests. 

“I have been through a lot too!” you hiss. “Yet I have watched you give birth twice, out of worry that it might be the last time I see you! And I’m how many years younger than him?”

“Your uncle has seen his second wife make her dragon burn her alive for the immense pain she was feeling during the labour,”

“And he also probably killed the first one,”

She sends you a look. “And I saw my father’s carbonised body,” you mutter. “Yet me and my dragon burn down to a crisp criminals for a living. Scratch that, not even for that, it’s just to make the lords understand that once the kingdom passes down to you or to me, it will be well taken care of.”

“My father didn’t have to prove himself worthy of ruling, so why should we? The throne will be ours by right, and the people will just have to accept it.”

The door creaks open, but you don’t turn to see who entered — by the steps, you know it’s Daemon, returning with his tail between his legs. “That’s where you are wrong, mother,” you reason. “Grandsire didn’t, but he is a man. Stop acting like people don’t doubt our capability of ruling simply because of our birth. My grandmother proved herself perfectly capable of being queen, yet she was passed down simply because she is, and will always be, a woman. And that, in our world, is one of the biggest disgraces to men.” you shake your head yet again — it seems this talk is full of disappointment on both ends.

“You could be the bravest knight of the Seven Kingdoms and still be looked down upon because they think your only purpose is to birth children. I am merely trying to change that perspective.”

“Is there a problem?” Daemon has now crossed the room and is right behind you, hand on his sword, hesitant gaze towards his wife. You have to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. “No,” you reply, back on your feet and going for the exit. “I was already about to leave.”

He blocks you by taking you by the bicep, eyebrows raised. “Why don’t you stay for a while?” he asks. “I’m sure your bastard could take a day or two without eating criminals.”

You stare at him up and down. “I’ll stay for a while when you’re either gone or dead. By your inconsistency and age, it won’t take too long. And please, take a bath,” you shake his hand off of your arm, “You stink of dragon, and even if she doesn’t tell you that, your wife suffers the smell.”

It is glorious to see the Hightower’s faces fall — mostly, it is endearing to hear the Lord Hand’s voice stutter. Because he knows you’ve got him. 

“But– but the Princess is but a child!” his daughter protests, looking at your grandsire, outraged. Viserys shakes his head, “This was solely my decision, and I will not let any of you think that your opinion counts on this matter.”

“Aegon is much older,” Otto merely chimes in. He knows his case is weak. “And so is Aemond. They’re men, well experienced and highly educated. I am sorry, Your Grace, but I don’t understand your decision.”

“For starters, I don’t ride my dragon drunk,” you reply to him, the biggest smirk on your face. Alicent’s face reddens at the mention of her firstborn’s biggest problem; you only stand straighter, with now the eyes of the whole Small Council pointed towards you. “Nor am I missing an eye — but even if I was, my dragon listens to my orders. Did you hear about Vhagar's latest mishaps, Lord Hand?”

Her waking up for your uncle to climb on her saddle, only to fall back asleep as soon as he’s on, sleeping so silent that the dragon keepers thought she was dead for good — and then, once they had finally managed to reach the skies, a whole farm burned down when Aemond had simply asked her to land. Either she’s senile, or she doesn’t really like Aemond. 

“Also, I wouldn’t call Aegon highly educated nor well experienced,” you add. “Maybe, yes — if you need a good brothel in Flea Bottom, he’s the man you’re searching for. For political matters?” you shake your hand. “Would you rather him falling off of Sunfyre on the way to Winterfell while drunk, or not knowing a single thing about how he should act? Or maybe send Aemond, and have the possibility of Vhagar burning the entire place down?” you scoff.

“Please, Lord Hand. We don’t want any diplomatic incidents.” you just know Ser Tyland is holding in his laughter. 

“The Princess is heir,” your grandsire adds, and you pretend to act as if you don’t hear Alicent gritting her teeth from the end of the table, where you’re standing. “She is highly educated, as she is to be Queen, she knows her way with swords and with words, and her dragon is as loyal as can be. She is a skilled rider and has already ended other men’s lives via him. She is fit for this task, and as I said, if she does well, it will be hers for the time to come.” 

“She is but ten summers old,” the Queen objects.

“I’m still a better option than a drunkard and a cripple,” you raise an eyebrow towards her, then towards her father, who is just about to speak. “And I would be able to make a better evaluation than you, Lord Hand, if that’s what you want to suggest. No prayers could ever woo me.”

Otto’s eye twitches. Nobody else on the council tries to say anything; the decision is taken, and since everyone in this room values their life and you look pretty threatening with your hand on the grip of your sword, they are smart enough to keep silent. 

“And whose fault is it that my son is a cripple?” Alicent taunts. 

You laugh. “I’m not the one who raised an ungrateful brat. You should be happy I’m here, considering that if I wasn’t and it was his fault, his neck would have been cut. Next time you have a son, maybe teach him to differentiate between a friend and an enemy.”

“That is enough, sweetling,” the King says gently. He looks around the room, at his council members. “You’re all dismissed. Sweetling, would you mind accompanying me to my chambers?” 

You nod dutifully, moving to his side as the others get up and handing him his cane. “Ah, thank you,”

As much as he doesn’t like to admit it, your grandsire is getting old. He can’t walk as much as he used to, and he is getting easier to tire. Small Council meetings almost exhaust him, now more than ever, and travelling isn’t much of an option anymore. 

“How’s little Aegon?” he asks, as you help him climb the stairs towards his chamber. He has yet to reply to any of his daughter or his brother’s letters, preferring to take any information he can from you. 

“Growing steadily,” you reply. “He’s almost six moons now. His dragon hatched; Luke has called him Stormcloud. I went to visit them on Dragonstone last week, after settling the matters with the prisoners on Driftmark. He’s learned how to stand and babbles soundly all the time.”

The King hums as the stairs come to an end, two guards opening the doors of his rooms for you two. “That’s good. Maybe one day you can bring him and your brothers here — I haven’t seen them in ages.”

You hold back a grimace as he takes a seat by the table that sits in the main room, resting his chin upon the hilt of the cane. “I’ll see what I can do,” you promise him. “Mother isn’t fond of King’s Landing, but maybe she would let me bring them here. She has been particularly lenient these last few moons.” that’s just because she’s trying to win you back, but that’s another story.

He nods silently, gaze tender and warm as he looks at you. His eyebrows narrow, though. “The North is harsh,” he warns. “I’ve been there just once, and after I had a fever that lasted the whole way back home. Northerners are– different. Tougher, harsher, more brutal. I need you to understand what you are getting into, before I send you there.” 

“Cregan Stark is the rightful heir of Winterfell,” you murmur, warmed by his worry. “The North is one of our biggest allies. To me it is clear that Bennard Stark is an usurper. And as an heir to the Iron Throne, it is only right that we treat usurpers as the law commands.” you purse your lips, “By death.”

“Northerners like to take care of their own matters,” your grandsire murmurs, “we rarely get involved, but… well, Lord Cregan is barely a man. He is but Aemond’s age, and even if the Small Council insists on not sending anyone, I can’t help but worry. An usurper who manages to get on a throne will only get greedier and greedier as time goes on. One day, we could find ourselves against the North if he ever were to succeed.”

“He has three sons,” you nod, “Cregan is but five-and-ten. And seeing northern standards, he won’t get married for at least another five years. Yes, there are rumours going around of Bennard murdering his first wife, but… it’s not rare that a woman’s death is overlooked on the promise of stability.”

Your grandsire shakes his head, sighing. “Greedy men, always grasping at everything they can take, even if it means killing your own nephew.” he presses his lips against each other, then tries to smile at you. “We will have to send you to Winterfell well equipped. I will send servants down to the market to look for coats and cloaks, but for now– there’s something I feel like you should have.”

He raises from his seat, going for the bed, kneeling carefully by it and reaching for something under it. He takes out a long silver box, decorated with dragon carvings and ruby stones; he motions for you to come near him, and he opens the case. 

Inside, there’s Blackfyre. 

Blackfyre is House Targaryen’s longsword, made out of Valyrian Steel, and once it was his chosen weapon. It is passed down from king to king, a symbol of power and duty, and even if you’ve never seen your grandsire wield it, you know he uses it as a scepter while holding court. 

“‘Tis only fair that it passes down to you,” he says, holding it out for you to take. “Dark Sister would be more appropriate for a woman, as it is more slim and light, but unfortunately it is in the possession of my brother, and I am sure that even if I were to force him to give it to you, you would refuse simply because it came from him. Blackfyre is the sword of kings, though; and now it shall be of a queen, too.”

You shake your head, bewildered, “Grandsire, as much as I am honoured, you still need it.”

He laughs. “And for what? To hold it as a stick during court? Please, granddaughter of mine, don’t jest. With me as its wielder, it will just grow musty, as I can barely even raise it. I insist you take it.”

Reluctantly, you take it in your arms and observe it; it is as you remember, clean silver and dark handle, a ruby on its end and something resembling a dragon wing at the start of the blade. It is too long for you to wear normally, that is already clear, so you’ll probably have to wear it on your back and hope it doesn’t reach the ground. 

Your grandsire smiles. “A good sword for a worthy wielder.”

The next sennight is filled with fittings and preparations for your upcoming trip to the North — which will be the farthest you’ve ever gone from King’s Landing. It will be a harsh and long journey, but you and Nādrēsy are ready for it. 

The night before your departure you ask the servants for a bath; a hot one, with the water almost boiling, as Targaryens like it. You take your sweet time, sending away the maids and sinking in the bathtub, tasting a warmth you probably won’t feel for a while. Looking at the mirror sitting a few feet away from the tub, you can’t help but glare at the scar on your temple — and it seems to glare back. 

It has now turned pink-ish, a little red on some days, and looks a bit like a thunder going from your head almost down to your cheekbone. In a year and a half of having it, you have yet to get used to it. For your ninth nameday, your grandsire gave you a white gold coronet that you always wear. It’s some sort of replica of his own crown, as they are much similar — the only differences being the way they fit, the colours and the Great Houses emblems; in fact, in place of those, you have amethyst stones, a nice touch requested by your grandsire. 

The coronet is a great relief, as it hides most of the scar from others, and if anyone notices, it seems they value their tongue too much to comment about it. The only one who has protested is Alicent, who insists that since you are neither a king nor a queen, you have no right to wear such a thing. Your grandsire, of course, ignores her, almost as well as you do. 

You only take the coronet off to go to bed and to wash yourself, otherwise, it’s always on your head. It acts as a shield between you and your insecurities, and you’re more than okay with it, especially because it is one of the prettiest jewels you own. The fact that for most of your days you now wear your usual dragon riding attire doesn’t mean you don’t like pretty dresses and shiny things anymore — in fact, you thrive on the days where you can wear your beloved gowns and show off all your jewellery. You already plan on bringing your best pieces to Winterfell. 

A look at your scar is enough to bring back all the memories you only wish to bury deep in the sand — Aemond’s attack, Jace and Luke’s little faces covered in blood, your mother injured and the sight of your father's carbonised body, added to the screams of your grandmother. You really wish things had been different. 

You leave on the morrow, right after breaking your fast. All the things you’ll need are already loaded on Nādrēsy’s back, near the saddle, and your grandsire comes with you to the Dragonpit to be able to bid you his goodbyes. Surprisingly, Aegon tags along.

He’s yawning for the whole ride, falling asleep at some point. He already reeks of wine and has blood-shot eyes, yet you appreciate the gesture. You don’t have that much of a relationship, aside from him teaching you the right words to insult Daemon, but still. He’s not really a bad person, he’s just… lost. Something tells you that if your mother had raised him, he wouldn’t be drowning in his cups every day all day. 

By the time you all exit the carriage, he’s wide awake and a man on a mission. “Bring me the best wine you can find,” he says, with a lucidity untypical of him. You burst out laughing, “Well, uncle, I’m pretty sure they don’t make wine in the North. But I’ll look for the strongest ale I can find.”

He sighs dreamily. “Oh, sweet niece, what would I do without you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Without me always defending you your mother would have killed you a long time ago for the sake of the family — can’t really say I’d blame her.”

He pouts grumpily while your grandsire joins you, having just exited the carriage. “Farewell, sweetling,” he murmurs, tears in his eyes, hugging you tight. “Be careful, please.”

You laugh softly. “Don’t you worry, grandsire, I’ll make sure to come back all in one piece.”

He hugs you again, Aegon standing there awkwardly — Viserys has never really shown affection for him, nor for his siblings. You always reprimand him for that, but he’s a lost cause. You do feel pity for them, to only have Alicent to love them — and what kind of love it must be! Maybe she whacks them twenty times instead of the usual thirty when they do something wrong. 

After securing Blackfyre on your back again, you mount Nādrēsy’s saddle, and he roars happily, spreading his wings. “Be careful!” your grandsire screams, as your uncle yells, “Remember the ale!”

Soon after, the Red Keep becomes but a small dot on the ground, and you are to reach Winterfell. 

They had warned you that the North was cold, but not even in your wildest dreams you could have thought it was this cold. You’ve been in the Riverlands, and it’s cold there too, yes, but the North? Nothing the maids had said could have ever prepared you. 

It feels like years since you’ve seen a green speck of land; now it’s all covered in snow, and it’s a miracle that dragons have a particular high body temperature, because otherwise you and Nādrēsy would’ve been swaddled by the hailstorms and snowfalls, for they are violent and — have you already said cold?

The coronet by now is freezing, so cold that your head hurts. You’ve already damned enough Gods and Saints to grant yourself the ugliest spot in one of the deepest pits of the Seven Hells, and judging by his grumpiness and complaints, your dragon is suffering too. He’s constantly huffing fire in an attempt to melt the ice and snow, trying his best to protect you, and even if it’s not of much use you are thankful for him. You briefly think that Syrax would never be able to sustain such a voyage, as spoiled as she is, and despite everything it brings a small smile to your face.

Rhaenyra does treat her girls well. 

The thought of your mother warms you, despite your discrepancies, and you wonder how she fares; you had written to her about your journey to Winterfell, but had not stayed long enough to receive a reply. Hopefully, little Aegon and all your brothers are well and thriving and aren’t having too much trouble adjusting to another sibling learning how to walk in the house — you know a thing or two about that. And about that, Rhaenyra treating her girls well reminds you about something… 

“Ivestragon, valītsos,” Say, boy, “Ziry iksos nūmāzma jēda īlon rhaenagon naejot pendagon nūmāzma lī belmos syt ao, iksin nyke paktot?” It's about time we start to think about those rings for you, am I right?

Your teeth are cluttering against each other, but your smile is loud and clear, and your dragon roars happily. You should've gotten him those horn rings ages ago, before Joffrey was even born, but with everything that happened it just slipped your mind. You promise yourself it will be the first thing you think about when back to King’s Landing, as he has more than earned them, especially after this trip. 

Your mother once said that a trip from the Crownlands to Winterfell on dragonback would have taken two days, but it takes you and your dragon five whole days, as you two are slowed by the bad weather and the constant stops to just light a fire and warm up a bit. Even as Winterfell enters your view, the snow doesn’t stop, and by now the scarf that is covering most of your face is basically frozen and crusted with ice, as well as the hairs that escaped your cowl. 

“Ninkiot, Nādrēsy!” Land, “Konīr, ondoso se dōros!” There, by the walls!

You have no intentions of scaring the Starks — or, should you say, the Stark? — so, for now, as much as it pains you, your dragon will have to stay outside. As the huge door that brings inside Winterfell is slowly opened, you open the chains that bind you to Nādrēsy while in the skies, as he stirs his wings and lets out a big yawn — that to the guards probably seems like a threat, because they immediately sheath their swords, preparing to attack. 

As if our dragons didn’t melt enough swords to make a throne of it, already.

“Lay down the blades!” a voice comes in. “It’s the Royal Ambassador you’re pointing them at, and I’m sure King Viserys would be dismayed if a diplomatic incident were to happen.”

You recognize him instantly — ah, first love, always hard to forget. He’s grown, of course, and now resembles more a bear than a man, especially with all the furs he’s wearing, and you take immediate notice of the difference between him and Aemond. They’re the same age — your uncle’s a little bit older, if you’re not wrong — and yet he’s still skinny and scrawny, bony, even with all the food his mother forces him to eat. 

And, of course, Lord Cregan Stark is much, much taller than him. 

He’s on a horse, followed by what you assume are his guards and men, and he quickly dismounts, bowing. “Princess, it is an honour to be able to host you in the Stark’s holdfast. It is a pity that it must be under such dire circumstances.” 

You hide a smile. Ah, Starks. So up their asses. 

“Hopefully I am not late for supper, am I, Lord Cregan?” you ask, pulling down your scarf to be able to talk better. You take out the dagger tied to your waist, manoeuvring yourself to be able to cut the cords that bind your luggages to Nādrēsy. They fall on the snow below, surely without much damage. 

He gets up, shaking his head. “Not at all, Princess, we weren’t even about to eat. You have the time to change into warmer clothes before the food is ready.”

You nod. “Good.”

You easily slide off your dragon’s wing, not noticing the way the boy reaches out — afraid that you’ll fall or worse. Gods know what kind of war a dead princess in Winterfell would bring to the North. You look back at Nādrēsy, “Ōños iā perzys lo jaelā, yn umbagon kesīr!” Light a fire if you want, but stay here!

He roars, not happy at all, and you turn back at him, glaring. Your next words are yelled and incomprehensible to Cregan, as he doesn’t know a single thing about High Valyrian, but he knows well the way insults and cursing words are said, and those sound like a lot of them. It’s so scary that him and some of his men shiver — and it’s not for the cold. 

Once you are done with him, he’s grumbling, quietly opening his mouth to burn a tree nearby, then hugging it with his body with a huff. You scoff, “You think you have raised a decent dragon and he turns out to be spoiled. What’s next? I’ll have to cook and cut up the meat for him to eat like they do for Syrax?”

He roars again, but this time you ignore him, walking towards the Lord of Winterfell, who stands there with his mouth agape. You held out your hand expectantly, raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and your dragon. In the end, he takes your hand in his, kissing the ring with the Targaryen emblem that sits on your middle finger, trying to ignore your worryingly big dragon. 

Standing straight again, he motions over two of his men, pointing at the bags left in the snow. “Take those and bring them to the chambers we reserved for the Princess,” he then looks at you, “I took it upon myself to appoint you three maids, Princess. The King advised me to, as he said you would’ve come here alone, and as much as I would like to think that your travels were nice, the weather suggests otherwise.”

That’s because right now the wind is icy, freezing, with splutters of snow falling from the sky. You nod, “Thank you, Lord Stark. It’s warming to see such a welcome after the freezing journey.” Quite literally.

He winces. “Cregan will suffice. We’re both far too young for you to call me Lord Stark.”

You chuckle. “As you wish. I will not ask you to stop referring to me as Princess, though, I hope you know that.”

He frowns. “Of course. I would never ask Your Grace to do that.”

He gently gestures towards his horse, dark hair frizzled by the wind, “‘Tis best if we go back to the castle, Princess; yet another hailstorm is brewing. You can ride with me.” 

You don’t let him repeat himself twice, letting him help you up on the saddle then quickly jumping on behind you, manoeuvring the horse towards the gates, which close behind you. If he sees the dagger you stole from him, he makes no mention of it. “‘Tis cold in Winterfell, my Princess, but I assure you that you will have the warmest room of the castle. The maids will make sure to keep the fire going; I imagine that going from the warm temperatures of King’s Landing to the constant snowing of the North mustn’t be easy.”

His northern accent makes butterflies explode in your stomach in such a good way that you think that if all men had the same tone, dealing with them wouldn’t be so difficult. You swing your legs over the side of the horse, careful not to hit it, and you focus on your hands, trying to take your mind off from your warm cheeks. “Thank you, Lord Cregan.”

He raises an eyebrow at your sudden silence. “…Of course, Princess. Anytime.” 

Truth is, you haven’t seen Cregan in years. It’s now a bit more than two summers since your last encounter, when he had all but stood you up on the dancefloor, on your own birthday. And as much as you would like to feign anger, or disinterest in his regards, he’s just too… well. 

He’s young, yet he’s able to hold on his shoulder such a heavy burden, being the Lord of Winterfell and going against his uncle. You can act tough all you want, but you are too a little girl who likes to listen to the love stories the septa tells you, and you wish for a husband who will treat you right — not like Daemon, who ran away from Dragonstone as soon as your mother’s labours began. 

Something tells you Cregan would treat you right. (In truth that’s just your inner child's dream speaking. You’ve liked him since before you were even able to really see or remember.)

You raise your gaze, looking at the boy in question. “Are you perhaps betrothed to anyone, Lord Cregan?”

He stills, a bit awkward, the horse stopping in front of the gates of the castle, “Well, no, Princess. By northern standards I am far too young. Here, usually men marry well into their twenties, or after their eighteenth summer.”

You hum. “Not in the Crownlands.”

Cregan frowns a bit, “If you are suggesting a…” he hesitates, “Betrothal, between you and me, Princess — and forgive me if I’m wrong — I think you are far too young to think about that, and I am too. I don’t think it would work.” He’s trying to break it to you in the nicest way possible, because — yes. You are a kid, barely ten summers of age, who’s probably already doing too much for her House, and marriage shouldn’t even cross your mind yet. He doesn’t find you funny nor is he attracted to you, obviously, so there’s no way he’s ever going to marry you. Besides, princesses are expensive, known to be spoiled, and he isn’t sure if he would ever be able to fulfil your needs and listen to you whine all day. 

You glare at him — and if looks could kill, he would already be in the family crypt, right beside his father. “Fine.” you hop off the horse before he can protest, strutting over the entrance, scaring the servants who are asked to show you around the place. “Princess, I should be the one to do that–” he tries to protest, in vain.

“Nonsense, Lord Stark!” you yell, dismissing him with a hand, not even turning back to look at him. “I’m sure the servants know the holdfast better than you.” and then you’re gone, followed by a maid who sends him a pleading look, inside the castle acting like you own it. If he doesn’t want to marry you, you’ll make sure to make him regret that — not only in this trip, but also in the years to come. 

Ah, children’s ego. So big yet so fragile. 

Cregan sighs, getting off his horse, immediately joined by Ser Rodrick, heir to House Cerwyn and in Winterfell to support him in this battle against his uncle. “What did you do to make her react that way?” he asks, bewildered. 

The boy huffs, kicking a rock nearby. “I rejected her marriage proposal.”

His friend pales. “Isn’t she, like… ten summers old?”

The Stark laughs, even if he’s not amused at all. “She is.” he shakes his head, in disbelief. “Children acting like adults. The King, between all of his capable and loyal subjects, chose his petty and spoiled granddaughter who has never heard a no in her entire life to send here to help me.”

He sighs again, getting into a foetal position, commiserating himself. “She would be capable of threatening me to give Winterfell to my uncle unless I marry her.”

You ponder the option of giving Winterfell to Bennard Stark unless Cregan is at least betrothed to you, but then again, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Besides, you suspect he wouldn’t treat you well if you forced him to marry you. 

Maybe he’s right. You shouldn’t think of marriage right now, as you are simply here to prove yourself worthy of the honour of being Royal Ambassador. I’ll shorten the trip, you think to yourself, as the maids show you your chambers and strip you down, guiding you to a hot bath. I’ll deal with the Stark usurper after supper. Besides, all I have to do is hear him out and then kill him. That was what Viserys had told you to do — Bennard had proven himself guilty, and unfortunately had too many people to support him for you to let him live. You’ll depart tomorrow after breaking your fast, and let Nādrēsy play with his preys if he wants. You could visit the Riverlands, pass by Riverrun to say hi to Oscar, and then by Dragonstone to see your brothers and mother. 

One of the maids asks you if she can take off the coronet to tie your hair up, and when you nod she proceeds — only to quietly gasp at the sight of your scar. She immediately pales and apologises when you glare at her, quickly laying the coronet on a stool, going back to tying your hair up so that it doesn’t get wet. 

You know it’s hideous, but the least she could do is pretend it’s not. The urge to go away as soon as you can gets stronger. 

They dress you in the warmest dress you have brought, the purple one with embroidered pearls and fur sleeves, then braid your hair into a loose plait, delicately putting your coronet back on your head, hiding your scar. They make no mention of it, thankfully.

They guide you to the Great Hall for supper, and you are not surprised to see everyone already seated — you had taken a lot more than you normally would just to spite Cregan. The Hall seems to contain at least five hundred people, with four long tables and a raised platform for the Lord of Winterfell, noble guests and his closest men — you guess, since he doesn’t really have any family left —  banners with the Stark emblem on every wall, covering the stone. 

Cregan quickly gets down from his table, up on the platform, to greet you, offering his arm, which you — kind of rudely too — don’t accept. “I… I hope the chambers were of your liking, Princess.”

You snob him. “They could’ve been warmer. As could have been the bath.” 

He nods patiently. “I’ll make sure to alert the servants to burn more wood for the rest of your stay.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Stark,” he winces, “I won’t annoy you for too long. I’ll take my leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he asks, panicked. In all of this you are walking towards the platform, towards your table, and everybody is yet to sit down. “But– the King said you were supposed to stay for a sennight, Princess. The matters for the settlement of the succession must be–”

You groan loudly, “I know, don’t worry, you will have your throne by the time I go back to King’s Landing.” you sigh, “Men, always only caring about what is owed to them and what they want.”

That seems to shut him up, and without another word you go up the stairs that take to the table, him begrudgingly taking out the chair for you, sitting down quietly. Then everyone follows your example, relieved huffs echoing in the hall, immediately followed by a quiet chattering while waiting for the food. 

It seems that everyone is on their best behaviour tonight, because Cregan’s men are unusually educated and cordial for being soldiers and guards — you know that once out of this room, they’ll let out all the burps they’re holding back now, as they chug on beer tankards (but with their pinky fingers raised politely, no doubt a try at tea parties etiquette).

Roasted honey venison with olives, peas and beans is served, and as you eat the men start to get a bit impatient — having lasted most of the day without eating, they are starving, and it shows: they are scarving down the venison like eventually it’ll come back to life and run away. Cregan glares at them, even if it shows that he himself is a bit rusty when it comes to manners, since he has bread crumbs all over his tunic. That must happen when a boy not even six and ten is left in charge of an entire household, you guess. 

As dessert is served and dinner is finished, you are the first one to get up from your seat, looking at Cregan with a raised eyebrow — even now that you are standing, he’s taller than you, and he’s still seated. “Where is Ser Bennard Stark?” you ask him, determined to end this matter as quickly as possible. 

He raises his brows, confused. “In the dungeons, with his sons, of course. But– surely you don’t mean to go there now, Princess, do you? It’s late. The sun has already set–”

“And I am to leave tomorrow. I wish to see him now.”

Childish and petty, Cregan thinks. But that is what you are, no? A child. The fact that you will inherit the Iron Throne doesn’t change anything, for you are still ten, and him at your age was still playing knights with his friends, with barely a care in the world. How in the Seven Hells have the Targaryen raised you?

He surrenders to your will, sighing and getting up, bidding goodbye to his men and guiding you out of the hall. Two guards swiftly follow you without being told to, and the way to the dungeons is silent. Both you and Cregan know the problem well — you have been informed of it by the Small Council, who chose Ser Bennard’s sentence, while he had lived it himself. There was pretty much nothing else to add to Bennard Stark’s case, and it was only because of his status that he had the right to be heard, even if his sentence was already declared — not that he or Cregan knew of it. 

The Small Council said in the beginning that Bennard Stark had to be killed, but with him being the son of a lord, things could get messy quickly. You didn’t really understand the problem, but apparently in the North everyone’s pretty attached to the Starks, making it hard for them to… well, kill each other. A blessing by the King is needed, but yours will suffice too. 

The dungeons are dimly lit and cold, with guards standing in front of each cell, vigilant and awake. Cregan guides you in front of one of the cells, and kicks at the metal bars of it. “Uncle, you have visitors.”

Ser Bennard Stark is a gruff man, thin from his prison days, face unshaven and bleary eyes. “He looks like you haven’t been feeding him,” you comment. Cregan snorts. “We do. He just refuses to eat.”

A guard brings you a seat, and you thank him and sit down. The man in the cellar looks at you, forehead pressed to the bars. “Who is she, dear nephew? Your playdate?” he’s sarcastic, that much you can tell. You already don’t like him. 

“Uncle, this is the Princess firstborn of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velayon. She is here as Royal Ambassador to evaluate your case.”

His uncle raises his eyebrows, looking at you up and down. “I don’t believe that. She’s barely a babe out of the womb.”

You glare at him, tapping your foot on the ground. “And you look like the worst scum out of Flea Bottom. But I guess looks can be deceiving.” you sigh heavily, crossing your arms. “Ser Bennard Stark–”

“Lord Bennard Stark,” he interjects. 

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll call you whatever in the Seven fucking Hells I want to. You are no Lord, and I am a Princess, so you are to speak only when interpelled. Are we clear?”

He makes no sign of a reply. “I said, are we clear?”

“Please, uncle, you have already embarrassed this family enough,” Cregan reiterates. In the end, the man opts to make a small approving sound. You lean back in your seat. “Good.”

You take a small piece of paper out of your sleeve, having prepared it earlier. You open it, and show it to him. “This is the order of the Small Council– your three sons will be executed as soon as your matters are settled, with or without you. They have no titles and are young, so there shouldn’t be many against it. You, however…” you tilt your head, “Your life sits in my hands. You are a knight, crowned by my own grandsire the King, and you are the son of a lord — a lord that was well liked and loved by his people.”

You sigh again, a bit tired from your journey, passing the paper to Cregan for him to read. “So, Ser, give me a good reason why I should let you live.”

“For instance, my good for nothing nephew ruling Winterfell alone would make the castle crumble to pieces in hours.”

You turn around, feigning confusion, staring at the walls and at the ceiling. “What a strange thing to say. He’s been ruling alone for almost three sennights and Winterfell still stands strong.” 

The man narrows his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be playing with your dolls and learning the alphabet?”

You stay silent for a moment, your foot still tapping against the floor. “And shouldn’t you have died of starvation by now? It would have made a lot of things easier. Do you know that there are people condemned to die of starvation?”

Your head turns to Cregan, who stands by your side and tilts his face to look at you. “Have you heard about that lord in the free cities?”

He thinks for a bit, then nods, and your gaze returns to the prisoner, “I think it was in Qohor. They locked up a man in a tower, with his four sons, and just waited for them to die, as they were left without food or water. They say he was the last one to die, and apparently, he ate the remains of his sons once he went mad from hunger. Unfortunately you don’t seem to understand the situation you’re in. Have you got anything to defend yourself against the accuses of usurpation?”

He starts yelling, slamming against the bars, hands reaching for you and his nephew. “That throne is mine! I won’t let children take it away from me!”

You laugh. “I guess we’re done here.” you rise from your seat, Cregan standing beside you to block Bennard’s attempts at reaching you. “Thank the Gods; my dragon could really use some breakfast tomorrow.”

“It is northern tradition that the Lord of Winterfell executes the prisoners–”

“Do I look northern to you?”

“No, Princess, but–”

“You have to understand that if you ask for the Crownlands’ help, then the matters are going to be resolved in the Crownlands’ ways,” you mutter, glaring at him. Bennard and his sons are tied to a tree, screaming and thrashing around, as Nādrēsy stares at them hungrily — he likes his preys scared, even if they’re a bit too thin for his usual liking. He’s waiting for your command. “Besides, my dragon’s hungry.”

“But my uncle and cousins are still Starks,” he tries again. There are guards who are watching the exchange intently, stealing scared glances at your dragon. Some people of the smallfolk who heard about the execution have bundled up at a fair distance, not wanting to get near Nādrēsy. “It is best if they die in our ways.”

You raise an eyebrow, staring at him like he’s crazy. “Lord Stark, you do not realise that by trying to steal your right, they threatened the Crown. And by threatening the crown, they threatened me, and my whole family. It is right that I seek justice in the name of the Targaryens.”

He backs up a little bit, hesitantly nodding after a brief pause. You nod back. “Please never question my judgement ever again. There is a reason why I was chosen to be Royal Ambassador, and it is not because I am spoiled or the favourite of my grandsire.”

Looking at your dragon, eager to have a taste at his relatives, Cregan understands why you have been chosen. Nādrēsy is scary, and his reputation precedes him, surely making any exchange easier.

His uncle and cousins die screaming, swallowed like flies by the dragon’s mouth, not even chewed on. The northermen can just stare, realising that if they ever were to be confronted by that monster, they would stand no chance. They look at their lord then, hoping that he never angers you in any way.

The matter is settled, so you are now ready to fly to the Riverlands, and once the sacks with your things are tied to Nādrēsy’s back you are free from your obligations and can go. You bid goodbye to Lord Cregan, thanking him for the hospitality, and climb on your dragon’s back, taking a hold of the reins, before stopping.

“Oh, I almost forgot– Lord Stark!”

He perks up, worried. “Is there any problem?”

“No, no, everything’s alright. Just… where do I find your best ale?”