Being The Targtower’s Youngest Sister Would Include…
being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…
pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader
synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.
includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her
a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls
Alicent
Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.
She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.
She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.
By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”
Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.
That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.
When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.
— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.
She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”
Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.
“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.
Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—
She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.
“I shall leave you be. Good night.”
Aegon
For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.
As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.
It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.
After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.
You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.
On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.
Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.
“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”
(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)
Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?
One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.
One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.
Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.
After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.
He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.
The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.
Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.
As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.
Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.
Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.
He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.
— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.
“Why is that?”
“You know why.”
You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”
Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”
Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.
He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”
You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”
Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”
Helaena
Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.
She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.
As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.
Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.
Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.
It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.
Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.
Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.
When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.
Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.
After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.
— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.
“What?”
You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.
She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”
You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”
“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”
(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)
Aemond
Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.
Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.
After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.
However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.
When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.
Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.
In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.
Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.
Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.
You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.
As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.
When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.
Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.
Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?
He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?
— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.
You sniffle. “Where were you?”
Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.
“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”
“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.
He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”
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𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
Daemon targaryen X reader Daughter (Father and daughter relationship)
Word Count:1719
Warning: just daddy issues I guess
You never had the close relationship others might expect between a father and his daughter. The memories of your childhood, especially the first five years of your life, are marked more by the absence of that paternal figure. It was just you and your mother, living a life you knew well, without the presence of a man whose existence you barely imagined.
The first time you saw Daemon Targaryen was when you turned five. You vividly remember a tall man with silver hair and violet eyes, who lifted you into his arms with a mix of curiosity and distance. He took you outside, where an imposing dragon awaited. Although the encounter left you confused, you couldn't help but wonder who this stranger was who suddenly seemed interested in you. You didn’t recognize him as your father until you heard him call you his daughter.
Despite the surprise, there was a spark of excitement in that moment, especially when you descended the skies together. From that visit on, Daemon began to appear more frequently in your life. On one occasion, he arrived with a gift that left you breathless: a dragon egg, in delicate shades of pink and blue, which you held in awe in your small hands.
But life has cruel ways of changing the course of things. The sudden death of your mother marked a turning point. It was then that you were told that your father would now take care of you. You remember clinging to your grandfather’s cloak, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded with him not to let you go with that man who, although your father, still seemed like a stranger.
The cold and gloomy stone walls of Dragonstone never ceased to intimidate you. The imposing statues of dragons carved into every column and wall seemed to watch you with their empty eyes, always managing to scare you. There was no possible comparison between Dragonstone and Runestone, the home in the Vale where you had been raised. There, the air was lighter, the colors more vivid, and the mountains and forests offered a sense of protection that you never felt in this dark fortress.
Daemon, aware of your distress, did everything he could to provide you with comforts. He gave you the finest clothes, feasts that rivaled royal banquets, exquisite toys, and dazzling jewels, all in an attempt to make you feel at home. However, none of those luxuries managed to dispel the sense of loneliness that enveloped you. Each passing day, you felt more distant, more trapped in a place that was not your home and never would be.
You always insisted that Daemon allow you to return to Runestone, to complete your education in the home you so longed for. Every time you mentioned the possibility, his response was the same: "You are a dragon; you must be among dragons." Those words, repeated with a mix of firmness and conviction, seemed like an increasingly untenable excuse. Deep down, you knew you did not share the same lineage as the Targaryens in such a visible way. You did not have the distinctive silver hair or violet eyes that marked the royal family. Even your dragon egg, the symbol of your heritage, remained inert, a silent reminder of the distance between you and them.
The news of his marriage to Laena Velaryon took you by surprise. You had assumed that if he ever decided to settle down, he would do so with one of the dubious women he frequented in the darker corners of King’s Landing. The idea that Daemon, always unpredictable and volatile, would opt for such a strategic and respectable alliance as Laena Velaryon seemed inconceivable.
When your new sisters, Baela and Rhaena, were born, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The girls were everything you were not: beautiful, with silver hair and an unbreakable bond with the blood of the dragon. Every time you looked at them, the difference between them and you became more evident, like a chasm that kept growing.
It’s not that you hated them, not at all. Laena Velaryon, always kind and affectionate, treated you like one of her own daughters, and the twins looked at you with the same devotion they would a big sister. However, despite all the affection they offered, there was something deep-rooted that kept you separate from the rest, an invisible but unbreakable barrier.
The birth of the twins awakened a paternal side in Daemon that you had seen only distantly before. With Baela and Rhaena, he was attentive and dedicated; he spent hours teaching them High Valyrian, telling them ancestral stories, and making sure each night they were well tucked in before sleep. However, with you, that tenderness and dedication never manifested in the same way. He never came to your room to give you a goodnight kiss or took the time to share with you the secrets of the tongue of his ancestors.
You tried to ignore the void that Daemon’s absence left in your life. Every time you saw him diligently care for Baela and Rhaena, you told yourself that you didn’t need him. You didn’t need his stories, his affection, or his teachings. You had learned to be self-sufficient, to find solace in your own strength. But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel the chill of his indifference.
Laena’s death affected you more than you would have liked to admit. She had been a kind figure, a link that connected you in some way to a family that had always seemed distant. Her passing left a void in Dragonstone that felt like a heavy shadow over everyone. The twins, devastated by the loss of their mother, sought support from you that Daemon no longer seemed capable of providing. You tried to be strong for them, even though sadness also enveloped you.
Daemon, for his part, fell into a silent grief, transformed by the tragedy into an even more distant figure. But just when you thought that sorrow had consumed him completely, he made an announcement that left you stunned: his engagement to Rhaenyra Targaryen. For you, it was yet another of your father’s madnesses, another impulsive decision that defied the norms and expectations of the world around him.
The news filled you with a confusion that quickly turned into indignation. You had barely begun to come to terms with the painful loss of Laena, and now Daemon, in what seemed like an absolute display of insensitivity, announced his intention to marry again, this time to Rhaenyra Targaryen, his niece and the future Queen. You couldn’t help but bitterly think about how quickly he had moved on.
How could he, having just lost his wife, dive so quickly into another engagement? The idea that Daemon, with his unpredictable and defiant nature, would make such a controversial decision at such a delicate time seemed to you like another display of his recklessness. You were surprised that he hadn’t even taken the time to honor Laena’s memory before plunging into what seemed like yet another of his craziness.
The wind whipped at your face, cold and biting, as it often did on Dragonstone. Your hands, numb from the island’s relentless climate, clutched your cloak as you watched Valarr fly in the distance, his pale pink scales glowing softly in the sunset light. The roar of Caraxes, resonant and powerful, made you turn your head. Daemon approached the dragon with a look of anger etched on his face.
Seeing you, he stopped for a moment, clearly surprised. "Y/N," he said, his tone more controlled than his expression suggested. He hadn’t expected to find you there.
Daemon cast you a brief but piercing glance before answering, as if weighing how much he should reveal. "To Harrenhal," he finally said, with a bluntness that only fueled your suspicions.
You were not satisfied. "Does the Queen know?" you insisted, searching his face for any sign that would confirm your fears.
Daemon avoided your gaze, focusing on preparing Caraxes, as if simply ignoring the question could dissipate the growing tension between you. But you were not willing to let it go.
"Was it you, then?" The question slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. "Was it you who ordered the death of Prince Jaehaerys?”
Daemon stared at you, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea. "It was an accident," he replied brusquely.
"How can that be an accident?" you retorted, disbelief and anger mingling in your voice. "I don’t have time for questions," Daemon snapped, his tone sharp and cutting, clearly expecting you to be silent and drop the subject.
Despite his command, you stood firm, crossing your arms and challenging the silence that had settled between you. The tension was palpable, each unspoken word carrying an imposing weight in the air. Daemon watched you, his expression initially hardened, but after a long moment of silence, his eyes revealed a glimmer of something deeper, something he had been hiding. He sighed, resigned. "Y/N, some things are better left as they are. There aren’t always answers you want to hear.”
Your thoughts remained unsatisfied, but before you could respond, Daemon took a step toward you. The unexpected warmth of his hand on your shoulder was a stark contrast to his usual coldness. His demeanor, though still somber, softened with a note of fatigue and concern.
"Take care of your sisters," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "They will need you now more than ever.”
With those words, he leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead, a gesture that, although brief, was surprisingly tender and protective. It was a moment of vulnerability that sharply contrasted with his usual hardness.
Daemon quickly pulled away, his face hardening again as if the act of tenderness had been a slip he could not afford. Without another word, he turned and mounted Caraxes. The dragon soared into the sky with a roar that echoed through the cloudy heavens, taking your father away into the distance, disappearing among the gray clouds of the sunset.
my love, my life
Violet Bridgerton x daughter!reader, Bridgerton!reader
summary: Violet and her youngest, Y/N were mirror image. when you debut and fall in love, she faces the reality of letting you go || warnings: growing up, nostalgia, crying sessions when writing this|| word count: 705 || masterlist
Violet Bridgerton had nine children, four boys and five girls. Her youngest two, Hyacinth and Y/N, had surprised her by being twins. Neither of them would ever meet their father and Violet held them closer to her because of that fact. As a child, Hyacinth wanted to discover everything, see the whole house and the gardens and sometimes beyond. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content to curl up on your mother’s lap as she stitched, watching her work.
If anyone ever asked, Violet Bridgerton did not have a favourite child. She loved all her children equally was equally saddened when they, in turn, flew from the nest. But secretly, you were her favourite child, always willing to help your Mama and wanting to spend time with her. You were always content, never causing a fuss or making trouble for her to fix, unlike all your other siblings.
When you debut, you remain by your mother’s side, wary of this new experience. You spend your first season testing the waters of romance, charming suitors but not being interested in any fully. It’s on,y in your second year that you find yourself truly charmed.
Lord William Harding comes from a respectable and wealthy family but most importantly, he understands you. He will gladly spend an afternoon strolling through the park together, not saying a lot but occasionally pointing out something and telling a joke. He makes you feel warm and safe and that’s all you can ask for. It’s starts slowly until you realise that you crave his warming silence and his gentle conversation.
“I think I love him Mama.” The confession came as you were lying across your mother’s lap in the drawing room. Your book had been abandoned and Mama put down her embroidery to look at you.
“You think or you know?”
You meet her gaze, suddenly worried at the realisation. “I love him.”
Violet simply laughs at your concern. “Relax, my love. You have nothing to fear. I see how he looks at you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He loves you.” She says. “Whether he realises yet or not, he adores you.”
“Are you sure?”
Violet simply raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly, continuing with her embroidery.
Your mother is all-knowing, especially after watching most of her children marry. William continues to court you, constantly looking at you with adoration. You confess your love to him as you dance together at your mother’s ball towards the end of the season and he reciprocates fully, imagining your future together and planning everything. Unbeknownst to you, he calls on your brother the very next day to ask for your hand in marriage. Anthony is well aware of your feelings towards William and gives his blessing willingly.
The time flies through your engagement until you're standing in front of your mother on your wedding day. You can't stop the tears gathering in your eyes as you look at her, knowing this is the final hurdle of your girlhood. Violet grasps your hands tightly in hers and pulls you close.
"You'll always be my daughter, no matter where you are."
"Mama-"
"It's alright to be afraid, it's alright to be unsure. That's love and life."
You dry your tears. "I want this so badly yet I am terrified of leaving you behind."
"I am not left behind." Violet says, convincing you more than she convinces herself. In truth, she is afraid of being left behind. All her children are now married, all will begin families of their own and she'll be reduced to the grandmother who is visited when it's convenient. It's only life, everyone grows up and grows away from their roots.
"I'll always need you." You promise her. Mama hugs you tightly once more before shooing you towards Anthony who was waiting for you by the entrance to the chapel. This was the end of your childhood, walking down the aisle on your brothers arm watching your mother follow behind you. He passing you to William and you find yourself perfectly at ease next to him.
"Take care of her."
"I swear to everything, I will."
Anthony nods once, taking his seat in the front row as the rest of your life begins.
taglist: @aoi-targaryen
Suddenly got very into House of the Dragon and now I have an idea to share.
Platonic Yandere targaryens with Aegon.
Viserys and alicent become obsessed with him when he was born. He has dozens of knights to protect him, never alone unless with his family. He’s so precious he must be protected. He can do no wrong.
Viserys wants to move him into a tower so he is safe from everyone and everything that could hurt him. Still brings it up, trying to convince Aegon that the tower would be so good and fun for him! His own space (locked away, only for his families eyes. No one else can see him, they could hurt his precious boy.) Aegon is often called to his fathers side, enjoying the loving attention and affection from his father.
Rhaenyra is very protective of her baby brother. Considers taking him to Dragonstone many times. Precious baby boy loves his big sister too. Always excited to see her. She rubs it in alicents face that Aegon gets more excited to see her then his own mother.
Uncle Daemon will commit several war crimes for this small boy. Makes sure to rest every single one of his guards to ensure he is safe. The safest boy.
Grandsire Otto will use every connection he has to keep the boy safe and secluded. No one outside the castle will see him, anyone who could be a threat is arrested and put to death for crimes against the crown.
Helaena and Aemond keep him company as they grow older. They are selfish and want to keep him to themselves, not even they’re parents can see him if they are there. Aemond trains to ensure he can protect his big brother, he’s so fragile. He and Vhagar can protect him, who would go against the largest Dragon in the world. He claimed Vhagar and lost an eye to protect him. He remembers his dear sweet brother crying for him, for his injuries. Helaena will keep watch through her dreams. Though criptic they can help her keep her brother safe with them. Only with them. No one else. They can’t touch him!
His nephews follow they’re mother. So protective. He can do no wrong. They try to convince Aegon to go with them to Dragonstone, they can protect him there. They have more dragons there, they will make sure no one can hurt him.
Baela and Rheana follow too. They were taught from a very young age to watch over they’re cousin, he is fragile and to be protected. He needs them. They will run to Daemon for the slightest thing regarding his safety. He was found in the gardens with only 12 guards? They will get Daemon to punish them for slacking off on they’re duty. One of his servants looked at him for 0.2 seconds longer then they should? Clearly they are stalkers and seek to harm the Prince! They should be punished
Even Sunfyre is obsessed with him. However unlike the humans of the family, Aegon will go willingly where every the dragon flies. Aegon can be seen sneaking away to the dragon pit to fly with his beloved dragon. They’ve lost many men because the fools tried to seperate the dragon from his rider. If he could, sunfyre would follow him around the castle.
Suprise twist is that Aegon remembers being king. He remembers the dance of the dragons. He remembers dying. He woke up in this strange world where his whole family is begging for his attention and will kill in his name. Viserys tried to name him Heir to the throne but Aegon refused, it is Rhaenyras birthright and he would not take that from her.
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.
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?”
𝐈𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐄𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐬 ( 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 ) 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞!! 𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐱 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧/ 𝐄𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐬𝐢 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐬 & 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞!! ( 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐥 ) 𝐀𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 & 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞!!
𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐬 & 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞!! 𝐀 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐚!! 𝐈𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦!! 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 & 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞.
Request for big sister reader please with platonic yanderes Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond where reader is the one who has cared for them since young so they absolutely adore her. However, Rhaenyra wants to take her full sister with her to Dragonstone. The three do whatever it takes to make sure reader stays with them.
You were only a few years younger than Rhaenyra. Old enough to grieve your mother, who you loved greatly but not old enough to feel the same injustice your sister did when your father remarried and decided to take Lady Alicent as his wife.
In the months between Alicent becoming queen and up until Aegon's birth, Rhaenyra became increasingly more at your side, shooting Alicent a distasteful glare whenever she got close to you, even doing so when it was your father who came near you.
You were her sister, her flesh and blood, you both mourned, you were vulnerable, she wouldn't let anyone take advantage of you in this state.
But she couldn't deny the jealousy eating at her when you happily started to carry Aegon around, beaming and happily chatting about your new baby sibling to anyone who would listen.
You loved Aegon, of course, he was loud and sticky and stinky, like all babies were but he was your baby brother! You were his big sister, so you'd always love him and look out for him.
"Do you like your new brother, dearest?" Your father asked you one day, running his hair softly through your hair and you nodded happily, beaming up at him.
"Yes! I like Aegon a lot, I'm his big sister! So, I'll take care of him." You were happy at the touch of affection from your father.
Viserys, Alicent, and Otto all smiled at the answer which only incensed Rhaenyra more. You were her sister! Not that... that stupid baby's! He had only been born but he was stealing you and her rightful place as the next ruler from her. Her father had promised and sworn but he had the son he wanted now, so what would happen now?
Nothing, as she found out, she was still the next ruler, as the King's first born child. The revelations calmed her fears, as did the happiness on your face when you congratulated her.
She could always count on you. Her lovely sister.
Just as you adored Aegon, you love Helaena just as much. You had a little sister! Your very own little sister! She was such a quiet thing, but just as lovely!
Her quietness made her no less lovely to you. You carried her around, bringing her flowers to show her and little bugs in small jar before letting them go.
"If you love something, let them go. If they love you, they'll come back. That is why I'll always be by your side, lovely Aegon, sweet Helaena." You cooed at the three year old Aegon and eight months old Helaena.
"Sister." Aegon babbled, clinging close to you. He hated being away from you.
only about six months late, came baby Aemond and Rhaenyra hated how doting you were.
But things were peaceful for a while, things were still good. you spent most of your time with Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. Taking walks with them, reading to them, playing with them.
Rhaenyra remained distant from them but not from you, she was as close as ever with you. She wanted to bring you to dragonstone. it was hers. as the heir, it was hers but you didn't want to leave while your younger siblings were still growing up.
She didn't want to leave you, so she let it be.
You were so happy for your sister when she got married, happy for your cousin Laenor too. You were even happier when both Alicent and your sister announced their pregnancies to you.
"Oh! Rhaenyra! I'm so happy for you!" You held her hands in yours, a beaming smile on your face. "Oh! I wonder if it'll be a girl or a boy!" You beamed happily before turning to your stemother.
"I'm so happy for your too! I'll be a big sister again! Oh, i wonder if Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond will be happy too." It'll Aemond's first time being a younger brother! You're overjoyed for him.
Alicent and Rhaenyra glared at each other when you weren't looking and you were oblivious as you were sucked in your joy.
You didn't get much time with Daeron but you were overjoyed by him, always trying to be there for him but Jace.
Oh sweet Jace, you adored your nephew. You coddled him endlessly, which Rhaenyra was happy about and your younger siblings weren't. Their nephew was jjust a bastard child, what did he have that they didn't?
It only became worse with luke's birth. They hated them both.
When Rhaenyra decided to leave for Dragonstone, she begged you to come with her.
"Oh, sister. Our younger siblings needs me here," You didn't want to make your sister feel bad but your siblings were still so young! Aemond was such a fragile child, as was Helaena and Aegon.
Rhaenyra held your hands in hers, her face twisted into a saddened expression. "I need you as well, sister. I am..." There was one more thing she could try to convince you with. "I am frightened, sister. All these baseless rumors. They all sneer at my children, I can't take it anymore. Jace and Luke, Joffrey too, I don't want them to bear the consequences of the ill rumors." It wasn't manipulation, she was indeed scared but if this took you aware from her siblings who sneered at her children and from her stepmother who openly questioned her children's legitimacy, then so be it.
Your face fell and you were quick to try and soothe your sister. "Oh! Oh, sister, do not fret." You whispered softly, hugging her softly, "Those awful people with nothing better to do! Jace is a prince, your heir, and luke will be the heir of driftmark one day, I am certain of it. How dare they!" Your sister shouldn't have to suffer such things.
"All I need is you by my side, please come with me." Rhaenyra pleaded with you.
"Oh, of course, I'll come with you. I shouldn't be away too long though." You fretted softly and Rhaenyra softly smiled at you.
You'd be too content to worry about coming back, she'd make sure of it.
As you left to dragonstone with Rhaenyra and her family, Rhaenyra waved at the watching trio while you weren't watching, only angering them further.
'I win.' she smiled as you.
their angel masterlist
notes: this au does consist of canon themes of violence, sex, frightening & intense descriptions of scenes, labour and birth, and obviously; yandere and incest paired with varying age gaps. please read the warnings on the fics themselves. i am not responsible for you continuing on past the warnings.
fics
Jewelry y/n would wear
Tourney of Blood
Mare’s Milk & Cider
The Devil Watches
a son for a son
blurbs
Otto n Y/n’s first kiss paired with a sketch
Ghost y/n who reincarnates for Game of Thrones
drawings
ALL DRAWINGS OF Y/N ARE DEPICTED AS MYSELF, I DONT DO GRAY YN’S!!!!! BUT I WANT TO CLARIFY THE DRAWINGS ARE NOT WHAT I THINK YN LOOKS LIKE IN THE FICS OTHER THAN CLOTHING AND JEWELRY.
Angel of The Red Keep & Aegon’s II
sketch of y/n in the scene i imagined for Otto n hers first kiss.
other
who is yn's parents? answer is revealed
Yandere team green and bastard!reader
(Alicent edition)
. At your initial arrival, Alicent is filled with mortification. Her lips thinned, tongue held between her teeth, doe brown eyes wide and stern as she stands by her husband's side and awaits for the scolding Daemon is about to receive. To return you at once, as you should have no place in the castle walls. However she's not met with any of that- and she's both furious and offended by Viserys's standoffish acceptance of you.
Even Rhaenyra takes you into her arms, which adds salt to the wound. She wished she could shriek at her husband- to demand an explanation of his actions. Another bastard roams the halls, whilst you all turn a blind eye. I have legitimate heirs, whilst you treat them like air. So it's safe to say she's not terribly happy about your arrival.
The grand echoing hall was filled with the hushed whispers and murmurs as the grand wooden doors were heaved open in the snowy haired princes arrival- gossiping hushed voice arose like a tide amongst the people as Daemon swaggered in with his chin held high and mighty. All with a wailing, kicking child held firmly under his arm like they were a wild alley cat. His expression was unreadable, yet fierce.
Everyone fell still at the sight. Rhaenyra's face pales, her palm settling upon her naval in shock, and viserys simply gawks a little in confusion upon his seat at the iron throne. Jace and Luke shuffle closer to their mother.
"Daemon, what is the meaning of this?", viserys commands. Alicent squeezes her children's shoulders, tucking a young curious Helaena into her side, and a scrunched-brow Aegon behind her. Aemond is unreadable. She casts her husband a wary look, which goes unnoticed.
"I am returning my child home, brother. That is all".
"that is all?" Rhaenyra speaks up. Her voice trembles a little in anger. But her eyes fall upon you, and her expression immediately softens.
Viserys seems to be in deep thoughts, his brow crinkles, before he sighs deeply in defeat.
"bring them closer, let me see".
Alicent shoots him a look. Yet again, she goes unnoticed.
Your feet drag across the floor a little as you're forced to the foot of the throne. The hundreds of peering eyes that leer above you make you squirm and fall silent, afraid, and the courtroom is uncomfortably silent now, it seems everyone is holding their breath awaiting for the kings say. The man- Daemon, you've learnt, stands behind you like a wall. Your back pressed to the front of his legs, and his gloved hands squeezing your shoulders to keep you still.
You look upon the pale haired man who sits upon the frightening looking throne, which seems to be made from an accumulation of soldered swords. Jagged and glinting in the pale sunlight that streams through the tall windows. Your little head is still confused and overwhelmed, but the crown upon his brow confirms to you that this man who is inspecting you must be an important king.
"Hello, little one". Viserys greets you in a soft hushed voice, as if not to startle you.
You find yourself silently staring back at him, still wary. He looks you over- amethyst eyes glancing across the features of your face, before leaning back into his jagged throne.
"she has your eyes". Viserys simply remarks, a softened smile appears upon his face. Daemon smiles back, taut lipped and eyes glinting like embers. Pleased by his brother's response.
You're ushered quickly afterwards towards the pale haired woman who stands close, two dark haired boys hiding behind her with their mousy doe eyes and cherub faces. You don't particularly want to be touched by strangers right now, but her gentle touch upon your shoulder gives you a little comfort- a stark contrast to your new father's possessive iron grip. She shares a look with him, the two seemingly having a conversation with their eyes alone, but she folds you close to her regardless.
Alicent watches, burning. Eyes, throat, stomach. Churning and boiling.
. Alicent is distant and leering at the beginning. She watches you get coddled and swaddled up by Rhaenyra, her boys tending to you with their little faces and hands. Petting your hair, clumsily wiping away tears, and sharing their toys with you. She struggles with the reality that you are accepted by the king, discontent churning in her stomach.
. She does all she can to avoid you- even going as far to dissuade her children from interacting with you. At the dinner table, she treats you like you are invisible. In the day, she tugs Helaena away after she spots you two in the garden lifting rocks to watch bugs together, and she finds herself glaring at Rhaenyra and Daemon more often than usual.
. However, it is inevitable for her to fall into a maddening descent to ultimately adore you too. No matter how coldly she treats you, you always seem to peer up at her with your big mousy eyes back. Always in soft curiosity. She watches the way you treat helaena so kindly, the two little girls always seemingly playing in their own world and gently handing spiders to one another to save them from getting swatted in the throne room. She also finds herself growing more and more distraught whenever she catches Aegon tormenting you for your lineage, swatting and scolding him whenever he pulls your hair and calls you a bastard. She often finds herself wondering why. She should despise you, hate your very existence in this family, and yet she cannot find herself to.
. Perhaps it is because you too have very little autonomy and freedom in the scenario. Her heart aches whenever she sees you pressing your little face to the glass panes of windows, yearning to capture a glimpse of the oceans horizon. Or scrambling at locked doors and gates to escape, blubbered sobs leaving you as you call for your mother.
. The moment she finally gave into her yandere thoughts is when you bump into her one day, your ornate silk dress and shoes wet and worn down to scrap, running from a knight. You're an inconsolable wreck, having just been carried back in by a fretful knight after catching you bolt out of an unlocked gate outside in the courtyard. He had just been able to catch you once you were knee-deep in seafoam, crying and sobbing to go home.
With your little face buried into her emerald green skirts, she wryly dismisses the guard.
She hesitates, contemplating, before scooping you up from under your arms to hold you like a crying babe. You whimper and sob into her soft coils of chestnut hair, little hands scrambling to cling to her like she were a life raft.
"I want- I want my mummy".
. It was like her breath had frozen in her body. Mummy. You want your mummy.
Emotion swept through her at your words, her own waterline stinging. She understood now. You're trapped here, just like she is. Your mother is gone, just like hers.
Her breath stutters out in a long breath to steady herself, before she cradles the back of your head and tucks you closer. Your little legs cling around her waist as she soothes into your hair, uttering a soft "I know".
Me too.
. After that occurrence, and finding herself reluctant to hand you over to Rhaenyra once the fretful woman found you two, her view of you changed. She no longer ignored you at the dining table, often sending you kind and remorseful glances, her thumb brushing over your cheek tenderly. Tension grows thick between her and Rhaenyra, but she lets it linger. If it means she gets to speak and spend time with you, then let their little war go on longer.
. She often encourages playdates between Heleana and you, along with reading and language lessons with Aemond. Aegon, to her disheartenment, seems to want nothing but to torment you and keep your attention to himself- no matter if it's positive or negative attention. Aegon is often slapped and scolded whenever he treats you poorly, torn into with her protective and scorning words.
"You are not to touch her Aegon, do you understand? ' she'll scold, grabbing him by the ear as he hides away into himself like a door mouse and meekly nods. His eyes burning with tears as he watches you walk away hand in hand with Helaena, Aemond following close by your side.
. Alicent is keen to spoil you for attention, as well as Rhaenyra is. They both want you as their own. Alicent is keen to gift you beautifully ornate leather books with emerald green ink lettering and intricate illustrations, finding delight in your reactions when she gifts them to you herself. She may even gift you a stead of your own, despite Rhaenyra's or daemons dislike for the thought of you on a horse. She'll attempt to convince viserys to have you be allowed to learn to ride horseback on the grounds alongside her sons, just to give you a taste of 'freedom'. Although she may condemn your freedom, hypocrisy at its finest, she still wants to make you as happy as possible. It's also a way for her to make you get along with her children, using you almost as a tool to cement herself a safe standing within the family. You get along so well with them, after all. It'd be a tragedy to tear you away from Helaena, the poor girl will cry for months if that were to happen.
. So although it is a rocky start with Alicent, she eventually softens to you because how can she not? She sees a part of herself in you and grows protective and enraptured. The tension between her and Rhaenary thickens because of it, and it brings a growing conflict between the greens and blacks over where you stand. Eventually you may grow overwhelmed and tired of the war and the fighting and miscommunication and revenge, that you may ultimately take off on your dragon and disappear. Another name in the history books, your whereabouts a mystery, and your name a myth. But we may see where you end up eventually, and where you stand in the dance of the dragons is up to you.
A lot of these headcanons are based early on in season one. I'd like the reader to appear around the time that Daemon married Rhaenyra, so that they'd both be your parents in this scenario, and alicent would be a godmother figure to you. I'm still figuring out the timezone that the reader appears in considering the events that take place, like Aemond losing his eye, so I'd love to hear suggestions!
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