Archive of Our Own ^omega

104 AC

Rhaenyra comes to suspect that her father might favor his bastard son instead of her when she is just seven and a half years old.

It is not for the fact that the King speaks of him often, because in truth, he tries to forget about his existence, tries to avoid any mention of the Reach and tries to avoid stepping foot in that Kingdom ever again. It is not because even nine years later, the whispers in the Red Keep do not stop spreading, of how the young Prince Viserys was seduced by a woman from Highgarden, right before his marriage to Aemma Arryn.

In truth, it is just because her bastard brother is a boy, and Rhaenyra will never be one.

When she tells her uncle in secret, hidden behind bookcases and shielded by Ser Westerling, he rears back with a laugh, finding it funny. Rhaenyra falls back in her chair, face set in a frown, her fists clenching in childish anger.

“What is so amusing?” she asks, purposefully trying to sound older. Maybe then, her uncle will take her seriously.

“You jest, Rhaenyra.” her uncle says, shaking his head, but once he takes another look at her, his back straightens. “You do not jest.”

“I do not.” Rhaenyra blows a piece of hair that has fallen in her face. “I hear the maids. They speak of him. Of his looks. Of his potential. They speak his name often, when they think I am not near.”

“Aerion Flowers. You can say his name, Rhaenyra, it does not make him magically appear next to you.” her uncle assures her, pulling her chair closer to his. “Now, tell me. Why would my brother love him more than he loves you?”

“He wants a boy.” Rhaenyra says quieter, almost afraid the walls will hear. “He always says it to mother, like it is her decision what the baby in her belly will be. I am not a boy.”

Daemon brings her face down and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. Rhaenyra knows he is stalling by doing this, yet she lets him anyways.

“Do you wish to know something?” he asks when he pulls away, his face troubled yet determined.

Rhaenyra nods eagerly, as she always does. She has always been curious, maybe more than most.

“I visit your brother, when I am not needed at court, when I feel as if too much time has passed since I saw him last.” Daemon says, quieter than before. He brushes her hair back, his hands getting tangled in her many braids.

“What?” Rhaenyra asks, her heart twisting. She had thought him to be on her side, only her uncle. It is not fair, having to share him. She does not wish to do so. “Why?”

“He is my nephew, just as you are my niece.” her uncle says calmly, seeing the anger brewing beneath her skin. “It is not his fault my brother made a mistake, and I do not think any of us should hold him accountable. He is a child, just as you are one.”

Rhaenyra’s nose scrunches in distaste as she tries to edge backwards on her chair. She does not like thinking of her father with another woman, cannot fathom thinking that he could love anyone else but her mother.

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon says once more, clutching her face so that she will look him in the eye. “The Blood of the Dragon runs through both of you. I believe you shall both meet one day, and when you do, learn to cherish the connection you might form. He is your brother, your only sibling.”

“Mother is with child again.” she says, as a way to deviate the discussion. She knows the situations are different.

Daemon makes a face, pulls her closer into an embrace. Rhaenyra feels his long sigh shaking her body. “I must say, I think you will be blessed with a sister.”

“I think so, too.” Rhaenyra hums into his chest, playing with the frills on her purple dress as she thinks. She lifts her head to look at her uncle. “Will you be seeing him again soon?”

Daemon hesitates, then nods. “When I leave tonight, I leave for the Reach. They know to wait for me.”

Rhaenyra hums, picks at a thread from her dress again. Her resentment grows quieter now as she is faced with the reality that her uncle does not hate her brother.

“What is he like?”

Daemon smiles, if softly. “Lonely. He wishes for someone he could spend his days with, someone to understand him. I think you would enjoy his company, were you two allowed meet.”

Rhaenyra nods absentmindedly, thinks of a boy in a small bedroom, all alone. She does not know what she would do, were she the one in his situation. She does not want to think of it, does not want to dream of it.

“Does he know of me?” she asks again.

Daemon gives a short chuckle. “Everyone knows of you, Princess.”

Rhaenyra frowns, which makes Daemon reach out and smooth out her forehead with his thumb. It unnerves her even more. “Does he know what I am like?”

“I tell him, when he asks.” Daemon offers gently. “He is not as curious as you are, you see. But he still wishes to know.”

“And do you train him with a sword? Like Visenya?”

At that, Daemon gives a grin. “Yes, though nobody, not even Aerion, is as good as Visenya was.”

“Of course not!” Rhaenyra exclaims. “Visenya was a warrior! Not even Aegon was like her. Nobody is like Visenya, though if there were to be someone similar, I come quite close.”

Daemon gives a laugh, hugs her close and keeps her there for a few seconds as he cherishes the moment. “Of course you do, Princess. If you would allow me to get to my feet, I would bow right in this instant.”

“No, I’m too comfortable.” Rhaenyra muses, suddenly at ease in his arms. “But next time, you must. Or else I shall not speak with you.”

“But of course-“

“Rhaenyra!”

Both their heads turn, and Rhaenyra blinks furiously as her uncle’s silver hair gets in her eyes. She pulls at it and he winces, but does nothing to stop her. When she can finally blink properly again, her eyes go to her mother, dressed in a fine blue dress and her hands rubbing her pregnant belly. She seems tired, but she always does nowadays.

Aemma watches the two with a smile, one that widens when Rhaenyra twists off her uncle’s lap and goes to embrace her mother, suddenly desperate for her warm touch.

Her mother looks down at her, her face soft as she brushes the hair from Rhaenyra’s face as she always does. The light from the windows brushes her face in such a way that Rhaenyra would think her mother a Goddess. Suddenly eager to be even closer to her mother, Rhaenyra clutches her hands, stands even closer to her skirts and frowns at her pregnant belly, annoyed at the barrier it proves to be.

“What are you two doing, hiding behind books?” Aemma asks, looking up at Daemon with an amused smile. “Do not tell me you were truly reading?”

“Ah, then we shall not tell you.” Daemon chuckles, standing up. He comes to stand next to the two , looking down at Aemma with a gentle expression. “How are you, truly?”

Aemma sighs and looks down at Rhaenyra for a second. “As well as I can be.”

Daemon’s expression sours, but Rhaenyra does not understand why. His shoulders drop after a second and he reaches down, ruffling Rhaenyra’s hair.

“I hope you were polite to your uncle.” her mother look down at her, brushes her cheek with soft hands.

“Always.” Rhaenyra says confidently while her uncle’s snort echoes. She shoots him a frown, but his expression just turns more amused.

“How is the baby?” Daemon asks then, sending a look to Aemma’s belly. It seems like a question out of politeness more than anything.

“Alive.” Aemma sighs, shoulders tight. “It is all that it needs be.”

“Aemma-“

“It is fine, Daemon.” her mother waves a hand, then looks down at Rhaenyra. “Now you, young lady, must take a hot bath and then go to bed. It is late enough.”

Rhaenyra peeks out of a window and sees the sun almost gone. She frowns up at her mother. “Must I?”

“You stink.” Aemma offers.

Rhaenyra flushes red. “I do not!”

“I was afraid to tell you, Princess,” her uncle buts in. “But the scent has been following you around.”

“Lies!” Rhaenyra says and turns towards Ser Westerling, who sports a straight back and a small smile. “Ser Westerling, tell them of their mistake!”

Ser Westerling turns and looks at her mother first. Then at her uncle. Then finally, at her. “I quite cherish my head where it is, Princess, and I do not think telling the Queen and the Prince that they have made a mistake will make my head remain there.”

Daemon gives a full belly laugh and Rhaenyra buries her face in her mother’s skirt. Aemma rubs her back, touch Rhaenyra can feel her laughing too. It is now, for a split moment, with her eyes closed and the sounds of laughter echoing around her, that Rhaenyra thinks of her brother that will never truly have this. She is suddenly grateful that her uncle cares for him.

“Are you leaving now?” her mother asks Daemon, once the moment has passed.

Rhaenyra’s uncle nods and looks down at her, reaching out and playing with one of her long braids as he speaks to Aemma. “It is about time, yes. I believe everyone has grown rather tired of me after a week here.”

“Do not speak like that.” her mother clicks her tongue then flattens her lips, a sign she is thinking. “Do you wish to speak with Viserys before you leave?”

“I think it is best if I don’t.” her uncle shakes his head. He lets go of her braid and bends down to press a kiss to Rhaenyra’s forehead. He clutches Aemma’s hand that is not occupied and squeezes it. “Take care, I mean it.”

Aemma gives a smile and squeezes Rhaenyra’s shoulders. “Say goodbye, Rhaenyra.”

“Goodbye, uncle.” Rhaenyra smiles at him and he grins back. When her mother starts to pull her away in the direction of her chambers, she thinks to turn back once more. “Uncle!”

Daemon turns to look at them once more, his expression not divulging anything.

“Can you tell him I said…” Rhaenyra bites her bottom lip as she think, twisting her fingers around as she feels her mother’s curious eyes set on her face. “Hello.”

Daemon watches her for a second, and then his lips twitch. He knows who she is speaking of, he always does. “Of course, Princess.”

And then he leaves, along with all the answers to her curiosities.

Rhaenyra gets the courage to ask her mother about it only weeks later, when she is already too tired to do anything else other than sit. Her belly has grown even larger, if that was even possible, and she has been told to stay in bed as much as she could.

Rhaenyra spent her mornings and her evenings with her mother, her heart aching for her as it always did as of lately. It was strange, seeing her mother turn into such a tired creature.

She traces her mother’s belly as they both layed sprawled on a sofa near the window, welcoming the morning breeze. Her own mother’s fingers were drifting to her hair, braiding and unbraiding strands.

“Do you think this one will be a boy?” Rhaenyra asks quietly, not wanting to break the peace. Moments like these aren’t rare, but she longs for all of them all the same.

“One can only hope, my sweet.” her mother says longingly. She shifts on the sofa and Rhaenyra rises to help her, but her mother waves her away. “You will finally have a brother, then.”

Rhaenyra hesitates. “I have one already, don’t I?”

Her mother pauses and looks at her quietly. She sits further up against the sofa and props herself against some pillows as Rhaenyra settles herself between her legs, facing her and keeping her hands on her belly.

“You do have a brother already, Rhaenyra, that is true.” her mother nods with a gentle smile as she brings a hand to her cheek. “It would bring me joy, to have him here, as he is of our blood.”

“Then why isn’t he here, with his true family?” Rhaenyra mumbles her question quietly. In the few weeks since her uncle has gone to the Reach, her curiosity has only grown. She has acknowledged her own need for a companion, for someone to share everything with. She wouldn’t mind having her brother by her side.

“Your father,” her mother hesitates, flattening her lips. “Your father wishes for a true born son. Your brother is not that. And it saddens me, that he cannot find it in himself to accept him even so.”

“Why are you not angry at him?” Rhaenyra can’t help but question. Although her brother was born two years before Rhaenyra, she knows that her father and mother were already married. She finds it hard to think about this detail and not get angry for her mother.

“I was angry, Rhaenyra.” Aemma caresses her face tenderly. “So angry. I slept in another room for weeks. But what has anger ever done to help? What can it give you, other than loneliness? It is anger that made your father not want his child.”

“Anger?” Rhaenyra asks. “Anger at who?”

“At himself.” her mother sighs. “Your father was mad at himself, and he took it out on a helpless baby who only ever needed his family. Your brother may be a boy, but he will never know the love you do, Rhaenyra. I find that a sad thing.”

Rhaenyra hums quietly, stuck in her thoughts. “Maybe I could convice father to bring him here, have him stay with us!”

Her mother smiles lovingly and brings her into her embrace the best she can. She holds Rhaenyra for seconds on end, simply keeping her lips pressed to her head.

“Would he agree, do you think?”

Aemma pulls away and settles Rhaenyra back on her lap with a grimace. “I think we could sway him, if we work together.” her mother says, a smile pulling at her lips. “Aerion Flowers, trusted brother to the Princess.”

Rhaenyra giggles lightly. “That is such an odd name.”

“It is, isn’t it?” her mother goes along with the jest. Then, her back straightens as she motions for Rhaenyra to turn around in her lap. “Now turn. I must braid your hair before you go to Syrax, I do not wish to see any of it burnt off.”

“Like Visenya!”

Her mother pulls one of her curls teasingly. “But of course, my darling warrior.”

Rhaenyra laughs, falls back into her mother’s embrace as her hair gets braided. She is eager to see Syrax, to ride with her through the clouds. It had been a shock to everyone when they saw the golden dragon soaring through the skies just the week before. ‘The youngest dragon rider’ they called her. She has received plenty of cheek kisses from her mother for that, along with a bowl of candied lemons from her father.

When she finally is on Syrax that day, the sun shining through her fingers, Rhaenyra feels excited when she imagines her uncle’s face once he hears of her achievement. He would be the proudest of them all, she is sure of it. She would ride on Syrax and he on Caraxes and they would maybe go to Highgarden together and steal her brother away.

Maybe she could get a dragon egg, one that she knows Aerion will like because she will like it and they are siblings. And if his egg did not hatch, then she would help him claim another dragon. They would soar through the skies together and they too, would be unstoppable.

It brings a silly smile to her lips, to think about her brother. Just moons ago she thought she might hate him for taking away her father’s love, but those were foolish thoughts. She would bring her brother to court one day, and she would be the best sister one could ask for, and he would be just hers. Nobody elses brother but hers.

Syrax screeches and Rhaenyra looks at the sun, the way it hides behind clouds. She sighs loudly, as if anyone could hear her and starts her descend towards the Dragon Pit. Her landing is a bit rough, and it pulls a wince from her, but she manages good enough. Her uncle will teach her more when he returns from the Reach with stories and jewels.

When she finally settles on the ground and looks towards Ser Westerling, awaiting his slightly exasperated expression, his face is only grave and lowered.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asks, frowning as she takes several small steps towards him.

She gets her answer soon enough, when they arrive back at the Red Keep and the silence piercing the air is a deafening one. When Rhaenyra sees her father, he is on his knees next to her mother’s bed, crying and spewing apologies. Rhaenyra’s mother lies dead, drowned in blood and tears.

Thoughts of her brother fade from her mind for a long time.

When her father comes to see her after they burned her mother’s body, along with her small baby brother, Rhaenyra does not even rise to greet him. She continues to lay on her bed, not even changed out of her black dress as she keeps the thin satin blankets over her head. Her tears had already dried out the hour prior and she can’t find it in herself to cry anymore.

She can feel the bed sink as her father sits down close to her, but he does not speak for several minutes. It angers her more than it should, the way he doesn’t even try.

Rhaenyra rips the blanket off her head and looks at her father, eyes rimmed red. “Are you happy now?”

He might look worse than she does. His hair looks filthy and his face is puffy from tears and suppressed crying. He looks nothing like a king. And he can’t even look her in the eye.

“Are you?” she asks again, her voice raw. “Your desired son is dead and so is my mother. There is nothing left. Nothing but me, your disappointment of a daughter.”

“You could never be a disappointment, Rhaenyra.” her father finally says, raising his head as he turns to look at her properly. “I love you more than I love anything else.”

“Clearly.” Rhaenyra hiccups, on the verge of more tears.

“You look just like your mother, you know?” her father gives a small, miserable smile when he looks at her.

“Is that meant to comfort me?” Rhaenyra asks miserably. “I want my mother.”

Her father’s head hangs low, shoulders pulled taught. He starts to shake after a few seconds but Rhaenyra stays put and watches him. He cries for what feels like hours but must be only minutes.

“I never wished for this, Rhaenyra. Never.” her father cries. “I loved your mother, I loved her so much. I just…”

“You have a son.” Rhaenyra whispers, watches him stiffen. “I have a brother.”

“He is no Targaryen, Rhaenyra.”

She sniffs. “What does the name matter when his blood is ours.”

Her father stands, drags a hand down his face. He looks down at her, face miserable as he takes her in. He hesitates, seems to take a few steps towards her, but Rhaenyra clutches onto her kness and shifts further into a corner of the bed. Her father stops and takes a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry, Rhaenyra. I wish you knew how much I loved your mother.”

He leaves after that, and the tears return. Only when her uncle comes back from wherever he had been the last month, when she hears Caraxes screech from the sky, does Rhaenyra rise from her bed. His embrace is the only true comfort she feels and his embrace is the only one she allows even weeks later, when she is adorned in red and black and declared Heir to the Throne.

112 AC

“Honestly, Margaret, it is a joke. I have never seen such a bad dress. ‘Specially made for her’ she told me. A joke!”

Rhaenyra snorts from her chair, turning to give Elinda a look as Melina continues talking about some lady at the last ball. Elinda gives a soft, amused smile as she looks up from her book for just a second before resuming her reading.

Melina turns towards Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “Do not laugh! It is a serious matter. You should have seen her.”

“I am sure.” Rhaenyra downs her cup with red wine, wiping her lips afterwards. “But us well dressed ladies must not worry about others.”

“Oh, of course not.” Melina settles back in her chair, adjusting her cushion. Roslin rolls her eyes none too subtly from next to her and Melina gasps. “You see, Princess, the way my sister treats me with disrespect!”

“Oh, what disrespect.” Roslin exaggerates. Margaret giggles quietly from next to her and Rhaenyra smiles, pleased.

Melina turns towards Elinda, who was still enraptured in her book. “You must side with me, Elinda, do not leave me to the wolves.”

“There are no wolves here, Melina, please.” Rhaenyra says teasingly as her cup is filled with red wine once more. She eats a candied lemon as Melina waves her away, turning once again towards Elinda insistently.

Elinda spares her a glance and then looks back at her book. “I am neutral in all of this. Do not dare to think of including me, I beg of you.”

Melina’s lips pull in a smile and she leans towards Elinda, stealing the book right out of her hands. Elinda gasps, looking at Melina with an outraged expression.

Melina, knowing how aggressive Elinda could get, stood up with no hesitation and took off in the opposite direction of where they were sitting comfortably in the royal gardens, hidden between flowers and beneath trees.

“Melina Strong, give me back my book this instant!” Elinda followed after her immediately, holding her dark blue dress up as she tried to keep up.

“Careful with the lilies, Elinda!” Margaret called worriedly.

Melina circled the garden, reading passages from the book out loud. “‘But the knight touched my soft skin and I melted. I knew I should not be doing this, but the pull was too strong. We were not wed, and yet I wished for him to know me whole, for him to fill me with-‘“

With a screech, Melina went down. Elinda stole the book back without a moment’s hesitation, her cheeks flushed incredibly red as she took a look around, terrified of onlookers.

Rhaenyra’s chest shook with laughter as she watched them, her eyes bright. Roslin clicked her tongue and stood up, going to Melina’s aid to help her stand up.

“You are lucky it is just us in these gardens, sister of mine. I think you have shown all of us your undercloths when you fell.” Roslin comments as she brushes some grass from her sister’s hair.

Melina smiles teasingly and turns towards Rhaenyra and Margaret. “The newest fashion of undercloths. Were they to your liking?”

“But of course.” Rhaenyra exaggerates dramatically. “Weren’t they, Margaret?”

“Finest pair I have ever seen.” Margaret agrees, cheeks flushing from the breeze blowing.

Elinda sits down with a huff, sending a glare at all of them. “One word and I shall behead all of you.”

“The Heir? You wish to kill her?” Melina puts a hand to her chest, turning to look at Rhaenyra as her and Roslin sit down. “Did you hear? Call for Ser Criston, or better yet, Ser Westerling!”

“Oh yes, I fear for my life.” Rhaenyra fans her face. She smiles pleased when she hears laughter from her ladies in waiting. She continues to fan her face, suddenly hating the summer heat and her choice of dress.

It was simple enough, her dress. Red and gold with hints of black, a couple of layers and dragons embroidered in the sleeves and the skirt itself, with a bigger one that signified Syrax and her flames. And her head piece just accentuated her seven braids, all intricated and woven together, made into a crown of sorts. It had taken an hour, but it was one of the more simple styles she has chosen of the past years. In the end, Rhaenyra considered her choice of dress fairly simple along with a big necklace, rings and earrings. Simple.

“Let us not speak of Ser Westerling anymore.” Margaret cleared her throat as Roslin and Melina continued to bicker.

“Oh, I disagree.” Rhaenyra sent her a teasing look. “We must speak of him and your odd crush on him.”

Melina snorted in laughter and Elinda hid a smile behind her book while Roslin simoly shook her head. Margaret fell back in her chair, red in the cheeks once more as her eyes widened.

“It is not that odd!” she whispered aggressively as she leaned forward. “I appreciate them…”

“More experienced?” Roslin offered experimentally.

“Like our Elinda here.” Melina wiggled her eyebrows and received a slap on the knee.

“More mature.” Margaret decided with a determined nod.

Rhaenyra shrugged and took a sip of wine. “We all have our preferences. I am sure if Laena were here, she would be completely on Margaret’s side.”

Melina gave a sharp laugh. “Oh, but of course. Remember the Lord she danced with once? How old was he again?”

“Too old.” Roslin shuddered. “I do not like them that old, I must say. I like them… blond and a bit dumb.”

“A Lannister is written in your future.” Melina said and Elinda snorted.

Rhaenyra smiled secretly. “We can arrange that. In the meantime, I have seen some boys with red hair strolling about, and I am sure we all know of Melina’s preference for redheads.”

“It was one time! One time!” Melina argued, groaning.

“One time too many.” Roslin reasoned before she turned towards Rhaenyra, eyebrows raised. “I do wonder about something.”

“Go on.”

“If you are this pretty, I do wonder what your brother might look like.” Roslin said.

Rhaenyra chewed on the inside of her cheek, suddenly hesitant. With the topics shifted, Elinda looked up from her book and assessed the situation. She out it aside finally and leaned forward in her chair.

“Now that we are on to smarter topics,” she sent a look to Melina when she seemed to open her mouth to say something cheeky. “Have you spoken with your uncle?”

Rhaenyra took a look around the gardens, but aside from the cupbearer in the corner that could hear nothing, there was nobody lingering about. Even so, she was still expecting to find Otto Hightower lurking about.

“If you would gather closer, it would be appreciated.” Rhaenyra huffed. The girls immediately gathered closer to her, practically forming a circle.

“I received a letter from the Westerlands just yesterday. I informed him of my father’s decision to legitimize Aerion, and he was glad to hear it. Very glad.”

“Your decision, essentially.” Roslin shrugged when Rhaenyra gave her a look.

“It has the royal seal on it. It was entirely his decision, I just pushed him a little.” Rhaenyra reasoned.

Since her mother’s death, her father had been getting weaker and weaker as the moons passed. He was set to marry Alicent Hightower, yet it was deemed useless when her father started to decay slowly each day. It had been terrifying, watching it happen, although sometimes Rhaenyra felt it was justice.

Although he was such in a bad shape, it took years to convince him on the topic of her brother. Rhaenyra would not want to be in his place, seventeen years alone, with their uncle the only other Targaryen to visit him. She would have visited him, had she been allowed, but Rhaenyra knew how to play the long game.

And the time came now. She had pushed her delirious father enough for him to grant her the royal seal on the document. It had taken much effort, to hide this from Otto Hightower, especially now that he seemed to be lurking from every corner. But she did it.

It had taken years, and her brother was now ten and seven, no longer a child willing to play with her. No longer was she excited about giving him a dragon egg, or having him play with a sword with her. But she was also a woman grown, five and ten. Already whispers of marriage threatened to drown her, and yet her father kept them at bay for now. It seemed she still reminded him of her mother at times.

“And you are still adamant on the fact that you wish to go yourself?” Elinda raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair relaxed. “He is my brother, is he not?”

“You have never met him. He might be horrible.” Roslin pointed out.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “My uncle raised him half the time. And Highgarden is not cruel, just cunning.”

Margaret sighed deeply and then looked up with a frown. “Rain clouds. We might have to go back inside.”

“Good.” Roslin nodded as she stood up. She turned towards Rhaenyra with a determined look. “We must choose your riding leathers for tomorrow then. And your braid. And I haven’t finished that painting of you!”

“Oh, and we must choose the undercloths too, just in case!” Melina said dramatically from behind them. Elinda elbowed her but the smile remained on Melina’s face as she walked arm in arm with Margaret.

“Lead the way, Roslin.” Rhaenyra smiled amused and linked her arm with Roslin and Elinda’s, the five of them leaving the gardens in a hurry as rain began to splatter on the ground.

It was just as hot the next day, as Rhaenyra rode to the Dragonpit in her carriage. She played with her long braid, similar to that of Visenya’s, with twists and turns and smaller braid woven through bigger ones. It calmed her nerves slightly, but she could still feel the bloom drumming beneath her skin.

As she reached the Dragonpit, she could feel Ser Westerling’s disapproving look on the back of her head as Syrax was brought out, already packed with all the things she would need from the day before. Her dragon looked ready to go, her mouth looking almost as if it was tilted in a permanent grin. It calmed Rhaenyra’s nerves significantly.

“You still do not think this a good idea, Ser.” Rhaenyra commented as she turned towards Ser Westerling. She much appreciated having him come with her rather than Ser Criston.

“It is not that I harbor hate for your brother, Princess.” Ser Westerling started. “I fear the consequences his presence might have. I fear for your safety.”

Rhaenyra swallowed harshly. She had informed the Small Council of her father’s decision and she had received the exact reactions she expected. Although Otto Hightower and a couple other were not fond of the idea of her brother roaming the Red Keep, the rest were in favor, seeing the situation as an opportunity to make House Targaryen seem more united once and for all. It had done nothing to change Rhaenyra’s view on the situatian, but it had offered her a clarity she might not have had before. She cannot do this without consequence, but she would be damned if the consequences took her down. She would return with her brother, and their house would be united. The Realm would know it to be so.

“I am my father’s Heir. That will not change with my brother’s arrival.” Rhaenyra said to Ser Westerling determinedly. “It will unite the Realm more than ever, seeing the great House Targaryen accept a so called… bastard.”

Ser Westerling gave her a gentle smile. “I do despise that word.”

“All will be well, Ser. Trust me on that.” Rhaenyra assured him, her heart lighter, glad of his trust in her.

She mounted Syrax with no difficulty and rubbed her skin as she sat down in her saddle. Her dragon seemed to understand what she wished for, because withouth even having to say anything, Syrax took to the skies and headed towards the Reach.

The flight took a day, and by the end of it, Rhaenyra was sure her bones had shifted places. Her neck cracked no matter which direction she bent it in and she couldn’t remember how many hours of sleep she had managed to get. But the sun was in the sky once more, the air was cold and when she looked down, she could see the fields that signifed her arrival in the Reach, in Highgarden.

Further down, the screech of Caraxes brought a delighted smile to her lips.

She landed near him, Syrax delivering an answering screech of her own. Rhaenyra could barely take in the beauty that was Highgarden before her gaze landed on the people waiting for her.

Her uncle stood straight among them, gaze set on her. To his right was Lord Matthos Tyrell with his wife Allayne, their little son Lyonel half hidden behind his mother’s skirt. And to her uncle’s left, her brother.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat and she rose from her saddle, trying to get off Syrax as gracefully as she could. She was horrified to think that she most probably stunk of dragon. Syrax left her to go to Caraxes almost immediately, and Rhaenyra wished to silently curse her dragon for leaving her to deal with this alone.

As she approached the group, Lord and Lady Tyrell bowed lowly, their son hanging rather awkwardly to his mother as he also tried to bow. Rhaenyra tried to hide her smile.

“Princess. It is an honor to have you here as our guest.” Lord Tyrell spoke as he straightened.

Rhaenyra offered the pair a smile. “It is an honor to be here, my Lord. Thank you for having me on such a short notice.”

“Of course, my Princess.” Lady Tyrell spoke. Her son tugged at her skirts and pointed at Syrax transfixed.

“She will not hurt him, I can promise you that.” Rhaenyra assured Lady Tyrell when she saw her wince. It didn’t seem to ease her worries but she gave Rhaenyra a pleasent enough smile.

“Uncle.” Rhaenyra turned towards the man. He gave her a rueful grin and gestured towards Syrax.

“Easy flight?”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes subtly and hoped Lord Tyrell was looking the other way as she did it. “You would know.”

Daemon chuckled, but her gaze strayed to her brother, who had remained silent during all her greetings.

Aerion was as tall, maybe even taller than Daemon, his build slim but muscled. His hair was short and the strands curly, much different to the way their uncle kept it long and had it straight. His eyes were a dark violet, a contrast to her own eyes, so light you would think them transparent at times. He was dressed similarly to her uncle, in black leather and a sword strapped to his belt. He was more handsome than any other man she had ever met, even her uncle.

Her brother’s eyes were locked on her and he gave a bow, short and mechanical, a twitch of his lips as he rose, as if he found this whole affair amusing. “Princess. It is an honor.”

“We are siblings, there is no need to address me by my title.” Rhaenyra swallowed down her hesitance as she looked up at him. “I insist you call me Rhaenyra.”

“Very well then.” her brother agreed, voice rough. “Then you must call me Aerion. We are siblings, after all.”

Rhaenyra gave a small smile, glad to have him agree. Lord Tyrell interrupted the moment, gesturing for a servant to go fetch Rhaenyra’s things from her saddle and have her settle in the prepared room.

Rhaenyra gave a short snort as Syrax screeched. “I am afraid I must do it, unless you wish to remain without a servant.” she informed the Lord.

“Oh,” Lord Tyrell said.

“I believe Syrax still remembers me, does she not?” Daemon asked amused. He gave Rhaenyra a look and gestured with his head to go with Lord Tyrell to her chambers. “Go now, niece. I shall have your things brought down with nobody missing their heads.”

“Nobody except you, perhaps.” Rhaenyra gave him a small smile then turned towards the Lord. “Very well then.”

The short walk back to Highgarden was calming enough. Rhaenyra followed a quick and meaningless conversation with both the Lord and the Lady while their son trampled through the grass, until they arrived at a long hallway, decorated appropriately, with roses and flowers carvings.

“I believe I can lead my sister from here.” Aerion spoke suddenly.

Lord Tyrell turned, and his wife seemed to give him a look, because he nodded immediately. “Of course. Go ahead. We shall be ready to eat in no time, so make sure the Princess gets to her chambers quickly.”

“Where would we be stopping?” Aerion gave the Lord a long look, his mouth twitching.

When they were finally left alone, the walk to her chambers seemed more awkward then ever. Rhaenyra tried to find things to tell him, but she always came up short.

“Your dragon,” Aerion started, giving her a brief glance. “She is called Syrax?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra nodded, glad to be talking of something she knew. “We could fly on her together one day, if you wish. I do not know if our uncle has taken you on Caraxes, but it is truly something special, seeing the world from above.”

“We have just met, and you would trust me to fly with you?” Aerion raised an eyebrow, sounding surprised.

Rhaenyra frowned. “You are my brother. My uncle trusts you completely and has spoken only good things about you. I have no reason to believe otherwise, but if you consider hourself untrustworthy, then I will be sure to remember it.”

Her brother gave a snort as he stopped suddenly. Rhaenyra turned towards him and crossed her arms, curious about his approach. But he just watched her for a few seconds, eyes analyzing her curiously.

“I have been on Caraxes, if you must know.” Aerion said.

“Fascinating.” Rhaenyra offered plainly. “It is different when it is your own dragon, but I am sure we can find either a dragon egg or a dragon for you.”

“A dragon? Just like that?”

“You are a Targaryen.” Rhaenyra offers simply.

Aerion scoffs, shoulders pulling tight. “I am a bastard. Do you not know my name? It is not Aerion Targaryen, but Aerion Flowers.”

“The same blood that flows through my veins flows through yours. We are both the Blood of the Dragon, wether you like it or not.” Rhaenyra frowns and tilts her head. “Besides, from now on, you can choose your own name. That is why I am here.”

“To be my savior?” Aerion offers with a raised eyebrow.

“To be your sister.” Rhaenra says and continues walking, not knowing where she is going but knowing that he will follow.

He does, of course he does, and the rest of their walk is silent. He stops before a set of doors and opens them, gesturing for her to walk inside. Surprisingly, her satchels are already inside the chambers, set neatly.

“Rhaenyra,” Aerion calls from her door. She turns to him with a frown, taking in the way he’s leaning on the threshold of her chambers. “You stink of dragon.”

Her eyes narrow as she purses her lips, cheeks slightly flushing as she realizes he is making fun of her. “At least I have a dragon, Aerion.”

His lips twitch upwards as he straighten, closing the doors behind him as he leaves her room. Rhaenyra sits down on her bed with a sigh, rubbing her forehead desperately.

She takes a scalding bath, no matter the fact that it is summer. The floral smells of the Reach envelop her as the maids dress her in a blood red dress, the sleeves intricate and cut up along her arms before uniting once more at her wrist, so they seem as if they are extravagant curtains covering her completely. A dark necklace lies at her chest, just above her cleavage, and Rhaenyra hopes her uncle will recognize the necklace is from him.

As the maids finish dressing her and drying her hair to their best ability, a knock echoes through her chambers and her uncle enters swiftly, changed from his leather attire to more appropriate supper clothes. Rhaenyra dismisses the maids with a quick smile and waits for the doors to her chambers to close before tilting her head at her uncle.

“Well?”

Daemon smiles slightly and motions for her to sit down on the bed. “I’ve come to braid your hair.” he speaks in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra raises a brow but presents no objections as she sits down. Her uncle settles behind her and begins braiding her hair almost immediately.

“Is there a certain style you wish for?” he asks.

Rhaenyra shrugs lowly and speaks in the common tongue. “Something beautiful.”

Daemon gives a low, amusing chuckle and continues to braid. He does so for a few minutes, letting the room bathe in silence before he eventually breaks it, choosing to speak the same language as her. “What did you think of your brother?”

“I think he did not like me very much.” Rhaenyra answers him and waits for a reaction she can approve of.

Daemon gives a low hum and tugs at a piece of her hair. “He is unused to you. He feels threatened, perhaps.”

“Threatened by what?” Rhaenyra asks coyly. “He is heir to nothing. He owns nothing. He has nothing to feel threatened over.”

She expects Daemon to be quick to anger because of her answer, but he gives a laugh. “Do not let him hear this. He is much too proud, just like you.”

“It is the truth.” Rhaenyra says simply as she plays with the rings on her fingers as a way to not fidget with the sleeves of her dress. “I have come here to legitimize him and offer him a place in my home. I have not come here to be disrespected or made fun of. If he wishes to remain here and be alone for the rest of his life, so be it.”

“You were much more eager to have him at the Red Keep the last time we spoke.” Daemon says as he pins some of her hair.

Rhaenyra hesitates, still torn. Of course she wishes for her brother to come back with her, have him take a place at court and support her. But she has always been known to be quick to anger, and she will not allow him to belittle her just because he is suddenly suspicious. He should be grateful that she has deemed him so important.

“I am still eager.” she starts slowly. “Yet I will not have him make a jest out of me. I am Heir to the Throne. I am not a little girl. I am his sister, but that does not mean I will excuse his every action.”

Daemon finishes her braid, having left half of her hair down and the other half braided into a crown with some golden jewels pinned in it. He stands and so does she, turning to gauge his expression. Daemon puts his hands on her shoulders and bends down, pressing a kiss on her forehead, something he could not do in front of Lord and Lady Tyrell.

“I will speak with him.” he says finally.

“You have written of him in most of your letters, have expressed your complete trust in him and of his good character.” Rhaenyra tilts her head. “Do not make me start doubting you now, uncle.”

Daemon nods at that, expression serious as he looks her over. “It will not come to that, Princess.” he pauses then, almost searching for his words. “Your mother would have been proud of the decisions you are making. They prove you will be the Queen this Realm needs.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders straighten and her tongue seems to be glued down. She is unable to say anything in return but her uncle does not seem to mind. He squeezes her shoulder once more and then leaves her to herself.

When she is led by one of the guards to the dining room, her thoughts remain just as messed up. She can only think of her mother.

When she eventually arrives and is greeted, her eyes zero in on the fact that the free place at the table left for her is at the head, where Lord Tyrell should have been sitting. It suprises her, but she says nothing as she takes her place. The conversations flow particularly better than when she first arrived, now that Lady Tyrell has become more relaxed.

She spares her brother some glances, but he is quiet and only shares words with their uncle if he feel like it. It is tiring, trying to understand him.

Once they have all eaten enough, and the red wine had been drained from their cups, Rhaenyra chooses to walk through the gardens surrounding Highgarden, having nothing else better to do. She is speaking with Lady Tyrell about a particular type of flower when they are interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

They both look towards Aerion, who looks completely out of place, with his dark clothing surrounding by bright flowers.

“If I might have a word with my sister, Lady Tyrell?” he looks towards Lady Tyrell, and when she nods her head after looking between them, Aerion carefully extends his arm towards Rhaenyra.

She flattens her lips but loops her arm through his anyways as he starts walking. The two of them make the image of the closest of siblings as they stroll through the flowers.

“Is there something you needed?” Rhaenyra asks, slightly turning her head to look up at him. It is quite exhausting, having everyone be so much taller than her.

“I wanted to apologize.” Aerion starts in High Valyrian as they stop before a bush of white roses. “It was not my place to question your intentions.”

“You can question my intentions,” Rhaenyra starts in the same language, silently suprised at his fluency. But the more she thinks on it, she is not suprised their uncle taught him. “It is something any normal person would do. But making fun of he is something I will not tolerate.”

Aerion seems to wince. “Yes, I might have exaggerated. You did not stink, I can promise you that.”

Rhaenyra allows herself a small smile as she revels in his embarrassment. “I know dragons do not smell pleasing, Aerion. That, I do not need to be told.” she says simply. “But, let us say I forgive you.”

“Just like that?” he asks, eyebrows raised as his shoulders straighten once more.

“Just like that.” Rhaenyra switches back to common tongue. “Or would you rather I remain angry?”

“No, no, it is alright.” Aerion shakes his head with a small twitch of his lips. He looks down at her and seems to think of something. He hesitates and licks his lips before taking a breath. “Our… father, he really wished to legitimize me?”

Rhaenyra links her arm through his again and takes a place at his side. “Let us walk while we speak on that subject.”

Aerion gives a low snort. “So, no.”

“It is not that he did not wish to legitimize you,” Rhaenyra starts. “But as you probably know, the King is very ill. He can hardly rule the Realm. More often than not, I attend Small Council meetings in his stead.”

“Are you not five and ten?” Aerion asks. Rhaenyra means to take it as offense once more, before she hears the clear curiosity in his voice. “Is that not allowed only from the age of six and ten?”

Rhaenyra shrugs. “It seems that many exceptions were made with me. But it is not as if my father does not participate at all, it is just that I spread his words in the Small Council instead of him. Besides, I have been going to the meetings since I was eight. I believe I know a thing or two.”

“It sounds horrible, attending meetings from such an age.” Aerion shakes his head. They circle around a fountain and and Aerion leans down, ripping a small flower from the lily pads. He presents it to her and Rhaenyra gives a small smile as she takes it and continues to twirl it around in her fingers as they walk.

“It was not so bad.” she reason and then clears her throat. “As I was saying, at one point he started wishing for you, too. You are his only son, after all.”

“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” Aerion asks, a bitter tone to his voice.

Rhaenyra hesitates and looks down at the small flower in her hand. “We would have done it sooner. Bring you to the Red Keep and have you grow up there, I mean. My mother and I planned to speak with my father, but then, well, you must know what happened.”

Aerion squeezes her arm when she remains silent. “I lost my own mother when I was five. I do not remember her as well as you must remember your mother, but I know how you feel. I am sorry.”

“It is alright.” Rhaenyra gives him a small smile. “It is funny, in a way, how the Gods show their irony. My mother died because my father constantly wished for a son and would not stop pressuring her about it. He constantly wished for a son he already had.”

Aerion hums quietly to himself. “The name always matters, Rhaenyra. Do not think I am the only bastard sired by a Targaryen. I was just lucky enough to be noticed by our uncle and by you.”

“I am aware of that.” Rhaenyra says as she looks up at him. “That is why you will be legitimized. You can choose your last name, you can choose your own seal. It will be yours forever, and history shall not remember you as a bastard of House Targaryen, but as a loyal Lord, brother to the Queen.”

Aerion’s shoulders seem to straighten and they stop once more. He looks down at her and he seems conflicted.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asks him, suddenly nervous.

But Aerion’s cheeks just flush slightly. “I can not think of a name.”

Rhaenyra’s laugh echoes through the gardens.

She remains in Highgarden three more days as Aerion prepares to leave. She spends as much time as she can with him, tries to help him choose a name, tells him of the Red Keep, of every person in it. She tells him everything she knows, and learns everything she can about him.

Rhaenyra learns that he hates candied lemons almost as much as she loves them, and that he dreamt of having a dragon as big as a carriage when he was five before he learnt that dragons could be much bigger. He tells her that the first time he met Daemon, Aerion dropped a spider in his boot because he thought he was his father. He tells her of his friends, Edd and Riuk, who he trains with almost every day.

Rhaenyra comes to watch him train after that, in her last two days at Highgarden. She pinpoints his two friends, Edd and Riuk, and notes with glee that one of them is a redhead and that he is handsome. She might just bring him back for Melina.

He is as good with a sword as he is with his words, which he excels at. She watches him and Daemon circle eachother from next to Lady Tyrell. Rhaenyra cannot take her eyes off of her brother, or the way he dodges and turns, his body lean and strong. It is Daemon that wins in the end, and Aerions grins up at her from where he is sprawled on his knees with his hair tousled. He looked every bit Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s heart beats faster with every passing moment.

“Good.” Daemon’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he patted Aerion’s shoulder. He stood up and spared Rhaenyra one last look before grinning at their uncle.

Syrax screeched in the distance and Rhaenyra flushed, knowing the reason why. She watched mortified as her uncle turned his head and gave her a questioning look before he looked at Aerion. The look he turned to give Rhaenyra then could only be described as teasing and completely embarrassing for her.

“Dragon!” Lyonel Tyrell sings from his mother’s lap. Lady Tyrell gives him a small smile as Rhaenyra turns towards them.

“He could come see Syrax, if you allowed it.” Rhaenyra said and watched Lady Tyrell’s hesitant expression. “I would not let any harm come to him. Somebody could accompany us as well.”

Lady Tyrell seemed to ponder it as her son jumped in glee, practically trying to drag himself out of his mother’s grip. “Could you take Aerion, then? I trust him.” Lady Tyrell spoke.

Just her luck, Rhaenyra thought flatly, yet she smiled anyways. “Of course.”

Lyonel then jumped from his mother’s lap and clung to Rhaenyra’s outstretched hand like it was his lifeline. She had a moment to feel suprised before Lady Tyrell was calling for Aerion.

He looked up from where he was speaking with one of his companions, and raised his eyebrow at the sight of Lyonel Tyrell clutching to Rhaenyra. Yet when Lady Tyrell told him to accompany them, his friend gave him a grin and a slap on the chest. Aerion pushed him away and walked up to them, coming to stand next to Rhaenyra.

“Please do not let him do anything too unsanitary.” Lady Tyrell called after them as they walked towards the dragon.

“Of course not!” Rhaenyra called back, not wanting to remind her that there was no way of giving a dragon a bath.

Aerion gave her an easy smile as they arrived where Caraxes and Syrax were resting. Syrax’s golden head perked up as she caught sight of Rhaenyra and she gave a happy sort of chirp that brought a smile to Rhaenyra’s lips. How she loved Syrax.

“Stay here, I do not want her to be overwhelmed.” Rhaenyra told Aerion, to which he nodded and took a step back.

“Do not let the little Lord go without a head, sister.” Aerion called as Rhaenyra walked hand in hand with Lyonel towards Syrax.

She turned to give him a dark look before she faced Syrax once more. Lyonel was tiny enough for a four year old, yet Rhaenyra still struggled a little lifting him up. She managed anyways and set him on her hip as she approached Syrax.

“Be gentle, she will not harm you with me here.” Rhaenyra said gently as Syrax lowered her head to sniff at the newcomer.

Lyonel wore an awestruck expression as he brought his hand up slowly and rubbed Syrax’ head. He gave a low giggle and continued doing so while Syrax practically purred, glad to be nuzzled by a soft hand. Rhaenyra watched it with a smile before she thought to turn her head towards Aerion.

He was just watching them, and she was too far away to gauge his expression, but she motioned for him to come closer anyways. Aerion took some steps towards them until he was next to Rhaenyra, face to face with Syrax as well.

“Will she not be overwhelmed?” he asked quietly as he looked down at Rhaenyra.

She shook her head as she took his hand. “She is calm today. You are lucky.”

She brought Aerion’s hand down on Syrax and his shoulders seemed to sag as a smile light up his face. Rhaenyra watched him silently as Lyonel continued to giggle at every noise Syrax made.

“You will have your own dragon, Aerion.” Rhaenyra spoke quietly.

Her brother’s hand remained steady on Syrax, but he turned to look down at Rhaenyra with a gentle expression. He used his other hand to take hers and lifted it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra.” he spoke earnestly.

Rhaenyra’s heart warmed and she squeezed his hand, and they remained with Syrax for much longer than they needed.

She asks him about his friends as they leave the dragons, Lyonel skipping a few paces before them.

“Which one of your friends is the redhead one?”

Aerion gives her a look. “Why? Do you favor them?”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes as she holds her dress up away from some dust. “One of my ladies does. And I am not so cruel as to separate you from your only friends.” she teases.

“It is Riuk.” Aerion huffs. “Edd’s hair is as dark as the night sky. One cannot confuse them.”

“Good to know, then.” Rhaenyra says as they approach the training yard once more.

Lady Tyrell spots them and seems to melt in her relief. Lyonel runs to her and Rhaenyra can see his mouth working faster than his brain as he recalls his experience with Syrax.

Two men approach her and Aerion and she comes to realize they are Edd and Riuk. Edd does have the darkest hair she has ever seen, but his eyes are a light blue. His features are similar to those of a Baratheon’s and she wonders funnily if Aerion has chose one other bastard as his friends.

The other, Riuk, has red hair and dark eyes, though he is one the more handsome redheads that Rhaenyra has encountered. His clothes seem more fitted than Edd’s, which leads Rhaenyra to think he has more gold to perfect the way they fit.

They both bow when they get close enough, but Rhaenyra simply smiles comfortably at them. “I guess you must be my brother’s lifelong companions?”

“Unfortunately so, Princess.” Edd says with an easy smile when he realizes she does not mean to be so formal with them.

Riuk elbows him. “We are all good friends, Princess. It has been… a journey.”

“You constantly seek me out, yet when another speaks of me you say I am like a leech.” Aerion drawls with amusement and Rhaenyra can see him roll his eyes. “Such friends I have. You see why I wish to leave?”

“Oh, yes, everyone does seem to hate you here.” Rhaenyea agrees teasingly and smiles at Aerion then turns towards his friends. “You would not mind accompanying my brother in King’s Landing, would you? Unless you wish to remain here, of course.”

“I do not mind.” Riuk says immediately.

Edd snorts. “Of course you don’t.” he says then turns towards her. “We must accompany him, because otherwise who would he speak with about you?”

“They jest.” Aerion says immediately down at her as he sends his friends a dark look. Rhaenyra chuckles lightly and watches her uncle head their way with his hands on his hips amusingly.

“What are you standing there, gossiping?” Daemon calls after they boys.

“I forced them, uncle.” Rhaenyra says with an easy smile as Edd secretly groans at the thought of training even more.

“Quit forcing them, Princess.” Daemon rolls his eyes. “Edd is scrawny as it is.”

Aerion snorts and Edd hits him but the three of them return to their training with a parting look to Rhaenyra.

The two boys, or rather men, keep their word. Their trunks are packed into a carriage by the end of the third day when it is finally time to leave.

Rhaenyra twists her long braid between her fingers as she watches the servants load the last of the trunks. The Targaryen seal inscribed on them shines beneath the sun and she feels her shoulders straighten as the flag with her house flutters in the wind above the carriage.

Aerion is with her now. And he will support her in whatever she chooses to do. It fills her with a sort of thrill, that Otto Hightower cannot take him away.

“Daemon and I will arrive in King’s Landing by tomorrow.” Rhaenyra tells Aerion when she feels him come to stand next to her. He doesn’t speak, so she continues. “You and the boys will arrive in ten days. You will be greeted by a feast.”

She can see him nod from the corner of her eye. “Do not miss us too much.” he says with a dry sort of humor as he turns to look at her.

Rhaenyra lets out a low snort and turns to face him as well. She looks him up and down and tries to picture him in nicer clothes. “Do dress up for the feast.” she drawls slowly as she then looks up at him. “I shall have them make new clothes for you, but until then, do try to make the best of impressions.”

“Brother to a Targaryen.” Aerion hums as he raises an eyebrow, letting his mouth twitch to one side. “One must keep up the image.”

“Brother to the Heir.” Rhaenyra corrects him with her head tilted to the side. “It is only crucial now, in the beginning. They will all get used to you one day, but for now, it is necessary. There are many vultures in the Red Keep, and I do not believe you are ready for them yet.”

Aerion scans her with his gaze, practically pins her down and blocks her way. “Do you miss the Red Keep, Princess?” he asks curiously. The sun strikes him in such a way it reminds Rhaenyra of a story about a Morning Prince.

“I never miss it.” Rhaenyra says truthfully. “Dragonstone is our true home. But I am to be Queen. It does not matter much, what truly brings me comfort.”

“Hm.” Aerion hums, his face serious. He raises one of his hands and plays with the end of her long braid that was resting on her left shoulders. He twists it between his fingers and Rhaenyra simply watches him. He lets go when Caraxes gives a screech and they are brought back to reality. “You must take me to Dragonstone one day. Show me your home.”

“Our home.” Rhaenyra corrects him the second time that day. She takes pleasure in the small smile that lights up his face.

Glad that she has already payed her respects to Lord and Lady Tyrell, Rhaenyra gives Aerion one last fleeting look before she goes over to Syrax. She climbs on her with little difficulty and settles in her saddle, strapping herself in.

When she gazes back down at Aerion, now with Edd and Riuk standing at his back as if they were his personal guards, she gives one last smile.

“I expect you to have chosen a new last name when we meet again, Aerion Flowers!” she calls down, her voice ringing.

Caraxes screeches and she gives him a fleeting glance, watches as her uncle takes to the skies. She can barely make out the way he turns his head to look at her, but she knows he is feeling impatient.

“Do not worry, Princess.” Aerion calls down louder from down below. Syrax screeches as if in response and Rhaenyra can see him smile.

She says nothing else, only gives a low command in High Valyrian and Syrax rises as quick as a blade, and then she is above the clouds, on her uncle’s tail.

She passes him rather quickly, Syrax young and restless.

“You could not get enough of him, I see!” Daemon calls from Caraxes.

Rhaenyra gives a sharp laugh as the wind blows at her face. She flies over Caraxes and has Syrax blow fire in his face. The race towards King’s Landing begins then.

She manages to avoid Otto Hightower for two days when she arrives back. Her father is in one of his deep sleeps when she arrives, so she chooses to dine with her uncle and then take a long, scalding bath.

Her ladies invade her chambers at once while she is still bathing, but she has no shame around them. She falls asleep late that night, still spewing stories of Riuk to a flushing Melina.

Most of the memories of Aerion she keeps to herself. She does not wish to share him.

The second day, she manages to avoid him by flying on Syrax in the morning, having the quickest of suppers on a field of flowers, all alone with her thoughts and grateful of her beloved dragon, before she takes to flying again and does it until the sun starts hiding beneath the clouds.

She is told that her uncle is in the city by Harwin Strong, so Rhaenyra does not bother with searching for him. She goes to see her father, but he spews only words of her mother when he catches sight of her, and Rhaenyra leaves him with her throat tight and her fists clenched.

She bathes once more and dresses in silk and sleep finds her almost immediately. She dreams of silver hair and she does not know who it belongs too anymore.

The third day, the day she finally has to face the Lord Hand, starts with Elinda pulling the covers off of her. Goosebumps rise on Rhaenyra’s skin and she resists the urge to screech, choosing to rather sit up and simply glare at Elinda.

“There are much nicer ways of waking me up.” Rhaenyra says sharply. “I could have the servants make you a list.”

Elinda sits at the edge of her bed. “We must choose clothes for your brother. And you must speak with the cooks, they do not know what he likes to eat. There is so much to do, you cannot go flying for the third day in a row.”

“Targaryen colors, though have some brown and green perhaps too, he is from the Reach after all. And he likes everything but candied lemons.” Rhaenyra lists off before turning to look flatly at Elinda. “Must I repeat myself?”

Elinda manages a half smile. “I shall pass those informations along.” she says and the stands up. “Now, we must get you dressed. What colour?”

“Purple.” Rhaenyra says as she stands up, stretching her back slightly.

It takes a long time to get ready, though nobody would ever tell Rhaenyra that. But she likes extravagance, and she likes jewels almost as much as she likes dessert. She has put all her hair up that day, her locks parted in seven braids who were then put in a ponytail and then had golden pins stuck in them. Her dress is one of her simpler ones, with a low neckline and puffy sleeves, though with a tight waist and a skirt that resembles dornish dresses. Rhaenyra might not particularly like the dornish, but dresses have nothing to do with the men ruling it.

She is walking towards her father’s chambers when she is finally intercepted by him.

“Princess.” Otto Hightower bows his head, hands behind his back as his green clothes shin beneath the sun.

“Lord Hand.” Rhaenyra tilts her head. “I have not seen you in the Red Keep since I have arrived. Do you have other occupations I have not been made aware of?”

His mouth twitches, only slightly. They both know she has not made an effort to look for him. “I must confess I have taken slightly ill, Princess. It happens every summer, when it is the warmest.”

“Oh,” Rhaenyra’s lips tilt downwards. “I do hope you feel better. Perhaps you should steer clear of the King for the time being, as to not worsen his condition.”

“The illness has passed, I will assure you of that.” Otto Hightower says with a somewhat pleased look, though he was achieved close to nothing. “I do wonder, have you spoken with the King?”

“I have seen him yesterday. He seemed joyful to see me, I must say. Even more so when I told him the news.”

Otto’s eyebrow twitches. It truly brings pleasure to Rhaenyra, to annoy him. “Ah, yes. The news.” he says lowly. “How is your brother?”

“On his way.” Rhaenyra crosses her arms slightly behind her back. She can hear Ser Criston’s armor shifting at her back. He is getting rather impatient the more he remains her knight, but for once, Rhaenyra can’t fault him. Otto Hightower is rather dull.

“And is he all you hoped for, Princess?” Otto Hightower questions rather boldly.

“He is.” Rhaenyra says with a low smile. “Though I did find myself more enchanted by the scenery in the Reach. Are you not glad, that your daughter has ended up there and not in King’s Landing?”

His jaw clenches, her smile widens. Otto Hightower straightens his shoulder. “I am sure that my daughter is more than satisfied with her husband and their life. They have children, have you not heard?”

“Oh, I heard.” Rhaenyra hums. “Four girls. Truly lucky, is it not?”

“Indeed.” Otto Hightower seems to say the words through his teeth. “Now, if you will excuse me, Princess, I have some matters to attend to. Should we expect you at the Small Council later today?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra says simply and bids him goodbye with a tilt of her head.

She walks once more towards her father’s chambers, satisfied with the way the conversation worked out. She has always found pleasure in making the Lord Hand uncomfortable, especially when mentioning his daughter. Though her father was delirious enough to let Otto Hightower remain Hand while his daughter Alicent was sent back to Oldtown after her failed betrothal to the King, Rhaenyra will not make the same mistake.

Her father seems the same as the day before, though Rhaenyra tries her luck once more.

“Father?” she asks quietly as she settles next to his bed.

“Rhaenyra.” the King croaks, hand outstretched. It shakes tremendously until she finally takes it and settles it in her lap. “How are you, my daughter?”

She almost chuckles. “I am well, father. I am happy.”

“You are?” he asks, voice airy. Rhaenyra frowns at the milk of the poppy at his bedside.

“Yes. My brother, your son, will be arriving in a few days. I cannot wait for you to meet him.” she says lowly, an indulgent smile on her lips.

Her father seems to think over her words. “Where was he?”

Rhaenyra frowns. “In the Reach, in Highgarden.”

“Why was he there? Why was my son there?”

Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. “Father, do you not remember?”

Her father seems to pause once more, and his deep sigh shakes him. “I remember now.” Viserys says slowly. “How foolish I was, to let my son rot with the flowers. I should have taken him, cared for him.”

“Yes, you should have.” Rhaenyra says firmly and holds her father’s hand tighter. “But he will be here soon. You can see him, you can honor him with your love. It is not too late, father.”

“It is for me, Rhaenyra.” her father coughs. “How could anyone forgive me? How could he?”

Rhaenyra does not want to tell him that her brother will probably never forgive him, not truly. “You will greet him when he comes, along with everyone else. He will know then, how much you love him.”

And so her father does. It takes effort, but they manage to sit the King at the table, just in front of the Iron Throne. Nobody expects him to rise from his seat and speak a few words, but it is enough to see him.

Rhaenyra greets the people she knows and the ones she does not. She is grateful now, that she has chosen a bright red dress instead of a black one. It is red that makes her stand out, the red on her dress and the red rubies in her hair. She has never felt more extravagant, more beautiful. It is a thing she is told often, that she is beautiful. But it does not mean she does not like it.

She rolls her eyes as her uncle saunters about and tries not to laugh, positive that Daemon will deny that he swaggers around the palace.

When she catches sight of Laena between the crowd, her heart jumps to her throat and Rhaenyra cannot hurry enough to get to her.

“Laena.” she sighs in relief almost immediately as she gets to her. There is an identical reaction from her cousin.

“Cousin!” Laena leans forward and kisses her cheeks, taking her hands in her own. “I’ve missed you, it has been too long and you have not visited.”

“You have not either.” Rhaenyra points out as she tilts her head.

“You have a dragon.” Laena states flatly, her curls bouncing about.

“Fair enough, though you are not far from claiming Vhagar as your own.” Rhaenyra raises a brow teasingly to which Laena shrugs with a grin. Rhaenyra loops her arms through hers as they walk through the crowd. “The girls have missed you too.”

Laena leans her head on her shoulder briefly. “So have I. Speaking of, do you know where Elinda is? I must borrow a book of hers.”

Rhaenyra raises a brow and Laena flushes. “Fascinating. But I see you are abandoning me already, is that it? Fine then, go to Elinda, I shall not miss you ever again.”

Laena chuckles, leans over to press a firm kiss on her cheek. “I do love you, cousin.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes then subtly points her head towards the corner where Elinda resides. Laena’s smile widens as she head towards her.

“I see my daughter is as restless as ever.”

Rhaenyra turns with a smile. “Princess Rhaenys, you must know how much Laena loves to read.”

“Oh, of course.” Princess Rhaenys says lowly. “All she does is read. Makes one wonder what is written in those books.”

“Fairytales, I suppose.” Rhaenyra shrugs innocently then widens her smile. “I must say, the blue of your dress greatly flatters your dark hair.”

Princess Rhaenys shakes her head almost amused. “Ser Harwin Strong is trying to catch your eye from across the room, Princess.”

Rhaenyra turns, sees Harwin Strong tilt his head towards the door and understands.

She faces Princess Rhaenys who wears a knowing expression. “I assume you already know what is to happen, so now we must part.”

Princess Rhaenys tilts her head. “Do be careful, Princess.”

Rhaenyra watches her for a second, then nods. She heads back towards the table with a few smiles here and there and sits next to her father. She grabs his hand, squeezes it, and he turns towards her with a faint smile. She is about to open her mouth to tell him something, but the large doors are opened before she can utter a word. The crowd stands still and parts like waves.

Aerion stands behind them, back straight and his gaze set in front of him, almost piercing. He wears red and black, the colours of House Targaryen, and Rhaenyra squeezes her fists so tight there must be nails imprinted in her hand. He walks confidently, with Edd and Riuk at his back, both of them dressed just as neatly.

“Aerion Tarreos, son of King Viserys the Peaceful!”

Rhaenyra watches enraptured and almost doesn’t hear the last name he has chosen for himself. Tarreos. She vaguely remembers it from a book, but nothing else comes to mind. It is his only, unique and never heard of before.

Aerion Tarreos. His name echoes through her mind.

“Father.” Aerion gets on one knee, bows his head and remains there for a few painful seconds as Viserys catches his breath. Rhaenyra almost winces.

“My son.” Viserys wheezes. Daemon gives a low cough from next to her and Rhaenyra refrains from stabbing him. “Welcome. How I regret not having you here sooner. But you are here now. And this, this is all for you.”

Aerion stands, spares Rhaenyra a fleeting glance then looks back at their father. “Thank you, father.”

“Come, let us feast and dance!” Viserys calls with the last of his voice. “You shall sit to my left, Aerion, with your sister to my right.”

Aerion bows his head and moves forwards, going to sit to their father’s left. Edd and Riuk blend through the crowd, who were now done with their whispers and where choosing to mingle and dance once more.

Rhaenyra looked behind her father and caught her brother’s eye, who was doing the same thing. She managed a smile before her attention was pulled elsewhere.

Jason Lannister stood in front of her. “If the Princess is not too preoccupied, might I have a dance?”

Rhaenyra wished she were back in bed.

But she danced, with Jason Lannister who would not stop speaking, then with Tyland Lannister, who would not stop staring over her shoulder, then with another Lord whose mouth ran.

Harwin Strong was a relief, when he finally took his turn.

“Princess,” he started slowly. “My sisters, Roslin and Melina, they would not tell me, so I have to ask you.”

“Go ahead, Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra said as he twirled her.

“Lady Margaret,” he started with a strained voice. “Is she betrothed? Is anything… planned for her?”

Rhaenyra gave a short smile. “She is not, Ser Harwin, though I warn you she might not like you so young.”

Harwin gave a frown and Rhaenyra burst into quiet laughter. “I jest.”

“I am glad of that, Princess.” Ser Harwin says amused then. “I have not met a witch that could make me older just yet, but it could be arranged if that was what Lady Margaret so preferred.”

“I am sure you can win her heart just as you are.” Rhaenyra assured him before the dance picked up and she was twirled into the hands of another.

Her brother held her against him as they danced, and a smile lit up her face. He looked handsome, even more so that night. His left arm circled around her waist tight and pulled her against him, glueing her to him. Rhaenyra could feel his muscles beneath his shirt, could feel how wildly his heart was beating. His other hand, the right one, clutched to hers like a lifeline.

“You shaved.” she noted rather breathlessly, trying to think of anything else other than how close they were. He had the barest of stubble when she met him.

Aerion gave her a funny look. “Do you not like it?”

“I like it, do not worry.” Rhaenyra gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. “Tarreos. Where have I heard that name before?”

Her brother almost flushes. “A character in a story, I must admit. I was not very inspired.”

“Now I remember!” Rhaenyra exclaims happily. “He was a lowly knight, fighting to keep a princess from dangers as she sleepwalked each night!”

“Ah, you know your books, Princess.” Aerion gave her a low smirk and her stomach tightened, as if she was in flames.

“I am most educated.” Rhaenyra assured him teasingly before she was twirled once more. The dance was almost to an end, and she itched to ask him more. “What do you think of our father?”

Aerion winced and she regretted asking, but he pulled her tighter against him, as if afraid she would run away because of his reaction. “He is ill. He most likely does not mean all that he says to me. But it is nice, in the end, to know him.”

Rhaenyra manages to give him a small smile before their dance ends and she is pulled away to another’s arms.

She barely speaks with her brother the rest of the feast. She dances once with her uncle and then watches him run off after Laena. She speaks with Roslin and catches Melina speaking with Riuk in a corner. She tries to push Margaret to speak with Ser Harwin and she looks for Elinda for an hour before she gives up. It is Ser Criston’s pestering and the sound of his armor clinking around her that finally pushes her to retreat to her rooms.

Rhaenyra changes in her silk nightclothes and lies down on her bed for what seems lile hours, until the sounds from the feast fade and the quiet follows. She cannot fall asleep, no matter how much she tries. And then, with a jolt, she sits up in her bed and looks towards her wall.

She stands up and goes towards it, opening the secret passage she found when she was younger and just as curious. She tries to remember which room it was and hopes she chooses correctly as she pushes on one of the walls in the tunnel.

Rhaenyra catches sight of her brother sitting down on the edge of his bed in just a white undershirt and some black pants and then almost regrets her decision on going to see him. It is too late, because he hears noise and he turns his head, catching sight of her entering and closing the wall behind her.

“Rhaenyra?” Aerion questions as he stands up, walking towards her. His hands raise as if to shield her from the cold, and then his eyes finally register the way she is dressed and he stiffens, before looking up at her and keeping his eyes level with hers.

“I could not sleep, and I hoped you couldn’t either.” Rhaenyra tries to explain, crossing her arms over herself.

Aerion clenches his jaw. “You are cold.” he says simply and moves away, picking up a cloak of his that thrown on a chair. He comes back towards her and throws it around her body, making sure she is covered. Rhaenyra shivers again, for other reasons, as his fingers glide over her neck as he tightens the cloak.

“It is summer.”

“Summer nights are always cold.” Aerion tilts his head and takes her in. A stray lock of hair falls in her face and he pushes it away gently, letting his fingers linger on her face before he pulls away. “Come, sit.”

Rhaenyra walks forward as he pulls two chairs. She sits down on the one closest to the window and peeks outside, watches the lights in King’s Landing and finds comfort as laughs echo through the street.

When she turns towards Aerion, she finds him simply watching her. Rhaenyra clears her throat. “Do you like your chambers?”

“I do.” Aerion smiles teasingly. “Especially now that I know I can sneak to your own chambers whenever I wish.”

Rhaenyra flushes. “You do not know the way. There are many doors in the tunnels.”

“I would find you, Rhaenyra, I can promise you that.” he assures and it is quiet for a bit after that. He leans his elbows on his knees and his white shirt pulls on his arms. Rhaenyra cannot take her eyes off him. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks back at his face, glad to be distracted from his arms. “Thank you. You looked handsome as well, dressed good, too. You have made a good impression.”

Aerion gives a small smile. “At least of that I am glad.” he says and drags a hand over his face, wiping at his eyes.

Rhaenyra stands abruptly from her chair. “You are tired. I should leave.”

“Sit.” Aerion tilts his head. Rhaenyra clamps her mouth shut and does so. Aerion gives a small smile and she finds him infuriating. “I need to speak with you about something.”

Rhaenyra motioned for him to continue.

“Otto Hightower spoke to me at the feast.”

Rhaenyra’s face sours instantly. “What did he say?”

“Glad to see someone from the Reach.” Aerion says simply. He waved his hand about then. “He phrased it very poetically, I might add, but he did seem to not like me.”

“He does not like you.” Rhaenyra clarifies for her brother. Aerion gives a sort of amused snort. “He does not like me either, do not fret. He tried to have his daughter marry our father, but he was already ill and it was deemed useless by majority of the Small Council. Otto Hightower is still sour because of it.”

Aerion nods and stretches out his legs. Rhaenyra then gives a very large yawn. It seems to amuse him greatly and he stands, extending a hand to her.

“Let me lead you back to your chambers, Princess.” he says charmingly.

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes but takes his hand as she stands up. He does not let go. “You are doing this as a way to know the way to my chambers.” she says teasingly as they walk back to the wall together.

Aerion pushes it open with the hand not holding hers. A gust of wind blows and he gives a low cough as dust enters his mouth. Rhaenyra’s lips twitch as she takes the lead. The walk is short, but it feels hours long as Aerion keeps her hand in his and squeezes every few seconds, as if he wished to remind her he was still there.

Rhaenyra pushes the wall to her chambers and enters first, Aerion close behind. She stops in the middle of the room and turns towards Aerion as he seems to take in her room. It is covered in silks and jewels, a few dragon carvings from her father and several unique trinkets from Daemon.

“I am glad to be here with you, Rhaenyra.” Aerion says then suddenly and pulls her towards him. She bumps into his chest and looks up, admires the way the moon seems to shine down on him through the window. “I do not think I have thanked you enough.”

“What for?” Rhaenyra asks quietly, aware of the little space between them.

Aerion gives a sincere smile as he watches her. “For accepting me as your brother. For bringing me here. I could thank you for centuries and I do not think it would be enough.”

Rhaenyra gives a slight smile and squeezes his hand. Aerion copies the motion and starts to lean down. Her heart stutters, but his lips press to her cheek firmly and remain there for a few seconds before he pulls away. His eyes glint as if he knew what she was thinking about.

“Goodnight, Princess.” Aerion murmured lowly.

Rhaenyra watched as he left her chambers mutely, her cheeks still flushed.

112 AC, one moon later

“The expenses are too great!”

Rhaenyra sighs aggravated but tries desperately not to show it. “It is not too great if it means changing something. Have you seen King’s Landing outside of the Red Keep, Lord Beesbury? It is filthy! There are human remains, animal remains and everything else you could think of.”

“I understand that, Princess,” Lyman Beesbury says lowly. “But the Crown cannot afford that as of now. The expenses from the last feast were great, and the King’s name day is approaching. We cannot afford to spend the gold now.”

“I must agree with Lord Beesbury, Princess.” Otto Hightower buts in. Rhaenyra refrains from rolling her eyes as she settles better in her chair. “Although, I do not see why some of our Gold cannot go towards the cause. Not all of it, of course, but a quarter should be a good start.”

Rhaenyra tries not to seem too suprised, and she thinks so do the other members of the Small Council. “Although the contribution is small, it is better than nothing, I suppose.” she says lowly and looks towards Lord Beesbury. “See to it that it is done, Lord Beesbury.”

“Let us not hurry, Princess.” Otto Hightower interrupts once more. “I believe you must speak with the King before making such a decision. He is the King, after all.”

Rhaenyra watches him for a few seconds in which the silence starts to get uncomfortable. “Of course, Lord Hand.” she rises from her chair which signals the end of the meeting. “With that, I believe this session has come to an end.”

The members bow their heads but Rhaenyra takes little notice of it as she leaves the room, her annoyance at Otto Hightower still high. She blames her anger on the fact that she does not notice Harwin Strong at her back and not Ser Criston.

“Ser Harwin.” she stops abruptly in the middle of a hallway as she turns towards him.

“Princess.” he says in return as he watches her.

“Why is it that Ser Criston is not here?”

Ser Harwin frowns slightly. “Prince Daemon requested to have him at the training grounds. Mentioned it was good practice for your brother.”

Rhaenyra sighs deeply. “Of course he did.” she muttered before she continued walking, changing her route so she would be heading towards the training grounds.

The sounds of swords clashing is heard even from further away and she stops as the ledge overlooking the men. She does not lean her elbows on it as she would wish to do, but she does lean her hip so it is a compromise.

She notices her uncle almost immediately, battling with Ser Criston. The knight is good, but her uncle is better. As Ser Criston falls to his knees, Rhaenyra does not doubt it is at least the third time that has happened.

Her uncle catches sight of her and grins. “Niece! Come to watch us fight?”

“Curious as to what mischief you were doing, more likely.” Rhaenyra calls back amused. She turns her head and watches Aerion throw Edd on his back and level his sword at his neck.

Edd admits defeat with a rough laugh that Aerion reciprocates before he looks up at her. Rhaenyra flushes and looks away from him before they can make eye contact and he proceeds to give her one of his ruggish grins. He always looks particularly handsome after a fight.

He has been looking even more handsome the more he remained in King’s Landing, influenced by those around him. He has started to wear more expensive clothes, only black and red and sometimes gold when she insisted. His hair grew more in the past moon and he has not yet cut it, so his curls are all over the place though Rhaenyra does not mind. He has grown accustomed to the way things work in King’s Landing, has become rougher because of it.

“Aerion!” Daemon calls with a look. “It is your turn to fight Ser Criston.”

Rhaenyra watches Ser Criston pause before the two men take positions. They cross swords and fight roughly, but it is only when Ser Criston is close enough to say something to Aerion, something only her brother can hear, that the fight ends rather quickly.

It takes a few seconds for anyone to react, but Aerion does not require more. He pummels Ser Criston into the ground without hesitation, barely feels the punch he receives in return before he is beating him into the ground. It takes four men to rip Aerion off of Ser Criston, and Rhaenyra can do nothing but watch, a hand over her mouth.

She looks towards Aerion, but he is still fuming, still being held back. “Say it again! Say it again!” he yells, louder each time. It is only when Daemon pulls at him roughly and says something to him that he starts to calm down.

Ser Criston is behind held by two men, but Rhaenyra can barely look at him. She looks at Aerion, whose one face is bloody. He turns to her, breathing harshly, but he does not look as if he regrets his actions.

“Bring my brother to my chambers, Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra mutters as she turns to walk away.

Ser Harwin hesitates, but lets her walk back to her chambers alone in the end.

When Aerion enters her room, Rhaenyra is looking out the window, trying to contemplate how his head would look like on a spike.

“I do not regret anyt-“

She turns to him harshly, her glare dark. It shuts him up. “I do not care, Aerion. What were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?”

He says nothing, only watches her. A stream of blood drips down his nose and Rhaenyra sighs, aggravated. She walks towards him and pushes him on the bed, does not try to register his reaction as she picks up a piece of stray cloth and pushes it at his nose.

“Tell me what he said.” Rhaenyra says firmly, holding his chin so he does not look away from her.

Aerion looks at her and drops the cloth from his nose. He swallows harshly and looks at her lips before at her eyes again. “Something about you.” he says, jaw clenching.

“Something about me?” Rhaenyra questions, suprised. “What?”

His expression darkens considerably. “You do not wish to know, Princess.”

Rhaenyra watches him for a few seconds, hee fingers still holding his chin. He seems to think that her expression is that of disappointment, because his lips turn into a frown.

“I would do it ag-“

She does not let him finish before she presses her lips to his in a feverish haze. Aerion only gives a small noise of suprise before his hands are everywhere. Rhaenyra is pulled into his lap rather quickly and her hands go around his neck, tangling in his damned curves and she pulls harshly with each tug at her lips. Aerion’s arms are not hesitant, and she would have pushed him away if they were.

His hands go on her lower back and then even lower as he pulls her closer and closer. The blood from his nose drips between their lips and she has never burned hotter. She kisses him as if he is air, and he kisses her as if she is a fire and he is it’s master. He is not gentle and she loves it, Gods, she loves it.

The heat travels through her mouth to her belly to her entire body. When Aerion gives another moan, Rhaenyra grinds down on him and gives one in return.

The kiss breaks only so they can breathe.

“It is the middle of the day.” Aerion says, breathing harshly as she trails her kisses down his neck.

Rhaenyra simply continues, and when he grips her hips harder, she is glad that he understands that she does not give a fuck that it is the middle of the day.

She can feel him beneath her dress, and is grateful when Aerion moves quickly to lift her dress so there is one last layer between them. He grabs her hips and grinds her harder down on him, their mouths disconnecting as they both struggle to breathe.

Rhaenyra grabs his shoulders and pushes harder and faster. She has rarely felt this heat when she tries on her own, his her fingers searching beneath the silks of her nightdress. When she thought of knights and tourneys, or of Lords that she danced with. But she feels it now, as Aerion mouths at her neck and grabs her harder.

“Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra,” he chants her name like a prayer.

Rhaenyra cries out into his neck as the pleasure overcomes her. She collapses against him with deep breaths as Aerion moans into her hair as his pleasure follows hers. They stay like that, both slumped against eachother on the edge of her bed, breathing heavily.

“Thank you.” she says lowly in his ear.

He knows she means Ser Criston. Aerion pulls away and grabs her face, kissing her once more, less hurried. It makes her heart burn just as much.

“He does not mean well. Will never mean well.” Aerion tells her. And she trusts him.

Rhaenyra nods and gives a small, giggly smile. “You probably broke his jaw.”

Aerion hums and plays with one of her braids that came loose. “Maybe that way he will learn to keep his mouth shut.”

Ser Criston is sent to the Vale, and it is said that he was the one to kill Rhea Royce in an angered outburst. Rhaenyra never hears of him since, though finds her own uncle’s happiness pleasing enough.

112 AC, two moons later

“Your hair is much longer now than when I first met you.” Rhaenyra muses as she strokes Aerion’s curls between her fingers. His hair is much longer, though he always cuts it before he could get to the stage their uncle is in. His white curls barely brush his shoulders, but they had been short and trimmed when she first met him.

Now, it is a pleasure to see his hair wet and sweaty, brushed back by his fingers as he trains. Or when he leans above her, and stray curls tickle her face. She does not know how she likes him best, hair trimmed and sharp or longer and rugged. She supposes she will like him either way for as long as she lives.

Aerion looks up at her from where his head rests in her lap and gives her a questioning smile. “Do you not like it, sister?”

“I like it, don’t you worry.” Rhaenyra smiles teasingly as the wind blows around them.

Dragonstone is colder now, though it is never too cold for her. And she cannot find it in herself to drag Aerion inside once more. She has shown him every corner and every room on Dragonstone in the past moon, has walled with him through the village and has introduced him to people she grew besides.

Yet now, as they lay on a blanket, shielded from view by tall grass and hills, with Syrax nestling close by, it is the most connected she has ever felt to her home. She is always reluctant to leave Dragonstone, reluctant to leave behind the sea and the hills and the quiet.

Rhaenyra supposes she is lucky, that she was able to leave King’s Landing with Aerion for one moon and leave Daemon in her stead, though she knows her uncle does not enjoy playing the politician.

“What are you thinking about?” Aerion murmurs, bringing her out of her thoughts. He raises his hand and brings it towards her face, cradling her cheek. Rhaenyra smiles naturally at the gesture.

“Of Dragonstone. Of how I never wish to leave this place.”

Aerion hums in understanding, toys with one of the gems in her hair. “I can see why King’s Landing is such a burden to return to.” he says then lets his lips tilt up. “If I knew about it sooner, maybe I would have refused to return with you.”

“Bastard.” Rhaenyra curses him, regrets it the following second.

But Aerion grins wildly and sits up, grasping her face between his hands. “That I am.” he says roughly before kissing her the same way.

Rhaenyra moans unexpectedly, hands going to Aerion’s wrists as he continues to hold her face. It is hypnotizing, the way he hold her and folds her body across his. They mold together whenever they so much as touch and she can never get enough of him, of his mouth, of his fingers.

His kisses are almost always demanding, but she is willing to give and give and give.

“Please,” Rhaenyra says breathlessly as he pulls away.  His hands fall from her face to her hips amd he pulls her closer, has her settles on his lap. He is so much bigger than she is, but it has never scared her, never made her feel inferior.

“Rhaenyra,” Aerion whispers, just as affected by her touch.

Before she can so much as kiss him again, Aerion’s fingers go towards her riding leathers. He rids of her trousers quickly, pushes them off of one of her legs and leaves them dangling by the other. It hardly bothers Rhaenyra, who is just as eager to touch him.

She goes back to kiss him, because it has been too long. Aerion grasps at her long braid in the back and pulls her closer by it, practically glues her to him. He moves from her mouth down to her jaw and her neck, keeps her close and has her tilt her head back. Rhaenyra’s grip on his shoulders becomes even tighter and she mindlessly unhooks his cloak and pushes it on the grass.

Aerion pulls away only slightly to go ahead and take off his tunic. Rhaenyra is grateful for it as she presses against his naked torso and clings to his warmth against the chill that has suddenly taken over the island. The wind blows quicker around them, and the grass seems to brush at her feet, but her brother keeps the cold away.

Rhaenyra feels her brother’s fingers on her bare thighs and she urges him on, pushing insistently against his hands. Aerion gives a chuckle against her mouth but she kisses it away as he finally finds her cunt, presses his thumb against her.

Rhaenyra is practically gasping for breath at that point and wishes to push him to go faster. She kisses his neck and then bites him, and Aerion’s other hand tightens on her hips and he grips her tighter.

“Bite me again, see what happens.” Aerion threatens, but it makes the heat in her belly grow.

“Aerion, please, please.” Rhaenyra pleads, close to tears as his fingers go in and out of her at an agonizingly slow pace. She tries to grind down on them, but Aerion keeps her in place.

He brings his head forwards and kisses her before pulling away. “You beg like a common whore, Princess.” he says lowly, eyes glistening with mischief. Rhaenyra resists from biting him again as he hits a spot inside her just right.

“And you,” she gasps and holds onto his shoulders. She can practically feel his smug grin radiating off of him. “You fuck like an old man. Slow and unsatisfactory.”

He gives a laugh, something low and deep. Rhaenyra looks down at him and grips onto his hair, while Aerion looks at her with a sort of grin. “This is not fucking, Rhaenyra.” he says with a pointed grip on her hip. His fingers go faster as he thrusts them in and out of her and his eyes seems to sparkle as he watches her grind down and pleasure herself too. “I fuck like I fight, and I know you like how I fight. I can see you watching me, every single time. You always look as if you would get on your knees for me if I asked.”

Rhaenyra tries to tell him it is not true, but she knows it to be a lie. Her cheeks flush and she tries to feel shame, but his fingers go faster and she grinds down and the pleasure comes in waves, but they all hit her just the same and she comes with a shout, glad that they are alone on that hill.

She is gasping at the end, slumping against Aerion as he brushes the hand that was once holding her hip across her head and braid. His other one, with his fingers coated in her cum, she watches him bring them to his mouth and lick them. It brings another hunger to her, and when he finishes, she goes to kiss him.

Aerion moans against her lips, all pleased, and Rhaenyra uses his moment of distraction to have her left hand go down to his trouser as she fiddles with them.

Aerion pulls away and grips her wrist, making her look at him properly. His eyebrows are raised and his jaw locked. “Your pleasure is enough for me.” he says lowly.

Rhaenyra’s heart warms, but she wants to make him understand her want. “I wish for more, Aerion. I want more. I want everything.”

His eyes darken and his grip on her wrist goes tighter. “You are sure?” he asks, not eagerly, but with an edge to his face that she would analize if she cared enough in that moment.

“I want it to be with you.” Rhaenyra says lowly and grasps his face with her right hand, connects their foreheads together. “No matter what happens in the future, I wish for my first time to be with you.”

She can see Aerion swallow harshly. Neither of them want to speak of the future.

He helps her take off his trousers enough. When she grips him, a fear seems to go over her, one she cannot shake away. Aerion smooths down her hair and kisses her cheek.

“Slow, Princess. I will take care of you.” he says lowly as he holds her hips.

Rhaenyra bites her lips but follows his head, her hands on his torso as she rises and positions him properly. With a low sigh, she sinks down on him slowly, though aware of Aerion groaning with every movement.

“Does it hurt?” Rhaenyra can’t help but ask, concerned.

Aerion gives a low chuckle and goes to kiss her. “Gods, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra uses the moment to sink down on him completely, and waits until the pressure of the stretch that comes with him goes away. She breathes through her nose, but it is not as painful as she thought it would be, not with Aerion brushing his hands on her sides and pressing kisses to her cheeks.

“Can I move?” Rhaenyra asks lowly, grateful for Aerion as he presses another kiss to the edge of her mouth. Her hands go to his hair as she holds him close.

“You could do just about anything right now, Rhaenyra.” Aerion says in a strangled voice.

Rhaenyra gives a low smile and starts moving, rising and sinking once more on his cock. The pleasure from before returns, even bigger. Rhaenyra cannot accept the fact that the loud moans surrounding them are coming from her, but then again Aerion is none the quieter.

He grasps her hips and positions her just right every time as she bounces on him. When she begs and whispers and pulls on his hair, Aerion holds her properly and thrusts roughly into her from below, the sounds of slapping and heavy breathing echoing across the clearing.

It is a pleasure she has never felt before, that she is not sure anyone but Aerion could recreate. It is a hazy thought, that she can barely make out, but Rhaenyra knows then that she does not wish for anyone but Aerion.

It does not take long, for her to come. But even after she does, and she feels as if her eyes go white and her body slumps at the shock, Aerion is still going. Rhaenyra keeps him close and loves the way his moans echo in her ear as he seeks his pleasure.

She might beg more often, if this is always the outcome.

Later, when they are spent and their clothes are back on, Rhaenyra watches the sky turn orange with her head resting on Aerion’s chest, his hand now brushing through her loose braid.

He presses a kiss to her forehead from time to time and she does not shy away from burying herself closer to him. She shivers at the breeze and blinks hazily as she watches Syrax cross the hill further away from them as she chases a poor sheep.

“I wish we could remain here forever, just you and I.” Aerion speaks quietly.

Rhaenyra rises on her elbow at his confession and leans above him. Aerion watches her, transfixed, and she finds herself hesitant to speak. “I…” she starts once then pauses again. Aerion is patient as he watches her and cradles her face. “I do not wish to do this with anyone but you. Ever.”

Aerion is quiet, but then he smiles, soft and gentle in a way she doesn’t think she has evee seen before. He brings her down to kiss him, and she can still feel the smile against her lips. It makes her smile too.

“When the time is right, Rhaenyra,” he starts once he pulls away. “When I have found my place at court and I have made myself known, I will marry you, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I wish to be worthy of you, worthy of a Queen.”

Rhaenyra uses her finger to brush some curls from his forehead with a soft gesture. She cannot help it, the way she leans down to kiss next to his mouth. “The only thing I wish for you to do is love me, truly and without an end. And to never leave me, as long as I live.”

Aerion softens completely, pulls her towards him and kisses her in a long kiss. “Rhaenyra-“

He is interrupted by a screech, once much louder than Syrax’. Aerion sits up and holds Rhaenyra against him and they both freeze in their place when they see him, Grey Ghost, stalking their hill with his gaze set in them. His scales gleam against the low sun and his comes closer with each breath they take.

Another screech and Syrax comes into view, putting herself between them and Grey Ghost. Rhaenyra’s heart soars.

“Call her away.” Aerion says then as he stands up, Rhaenyra following suit.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asks then lowly, tugging on his shirt to keep him from going any closer to the dragon.

“Rhaenyra, trust me.”

Rhaenyra looks from Aerion to Syrax to Grey Ghost and feels the need to pull her hair out.

“Syrax!” she calls in High Valyrian. “Take flight!”

Syrax pauses and screeches back, almost arguing with her. Grey Ghost seems to watch the interaction transfixed.

“Syrax!” Rhaenyra calls once more. Syrax gives an annoyed sound and takes flight. She does not remaim in the air though, choosing to settle nearby as she watches them. Rhaenyra cannot blame her.

Grey Ghost remains watching them and Rhaenyra frowns. Her and Aerion should have chosen another dragon to stalk in their time on Dragonstone, but Cannibal seemed too violent and Grey Ghost seemed the better option for Aerion. They had encountered the dragon from further away in their time here, and he never seemed violent when Aerion got near, but then again he had never approached them first.

“Aerion,” Rhaenyra calls when he moves away from her graps but he turns to look at her once.

“He knows us, knows me.” Aerion reassures her, though his hands are shaking too. Rhaenyra swallows harshly and he gives a low smile. “Wait here, Princess.”

Rhaenyra scowls darkly but watches her brother approach the wild dragon. She wants to curse him in that moment, but finds that she cannot turn her attention to anything else.

Aerion approaches Grey Ghost while the dragon simply watches. When he is close enough, Grey Ghost lowers his head to give a long sniff at Aerion. It seems to take hours, but it must only be minutes, but then Aerion puts his hand on Grey Ghost’s head and the dragon gives a low noise of acceptance and Rhaenyra’s shoulders visibly sag.

She sees Aerion faintly turn towards her and she gives him a relieved smile, hoping he can see it. Syrax screeches from further down but Grey Ghost does not flee.

Aerion motions his hand towards Rhaenyra and she walks towards him slowly, not wanting to scare Grey Ghost. When she reaches them, she puts her hand on his grey scales slowly and the dragon sighs heavily once more.

Rhaenyra turns towards Aerion and is glad to see him smiling. “I am glad you are not dead.” she says, half serious.

Aerion gives a snort, catches her hand and pulls her towards him. His arm goes around her waist as he brings her even closer and leans down, kissing her firmly. Rhaenyra melts into him and clutches at his cloak as she pulls him down further. Grey Ghost sighs behind them and blows their hair.

Rhaenyra parts from Aerion with a cheeky smile. “Race you around the island?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

Aerion laughs shortly, presses another kiss to her lips. “Run along, sister, Syrax is further away and I know how much you hate to lose.”

Rhaenyra snorts. She does not lose the race.

When they return to King’s Landing, two dragons instead of one, their uncle congratulates them first. He brings Aerion in a stupid, manly hug and Rhaenyra ducks away when he seems to want to do the same to her.

They have dinner with their father the same day, and it is as awkward as every single one from before. With his worsening conversation, Viserys seemed to forget many of the details Aerion told him of his life, and he just keeps asking the same questions every dinner.

“And, tell me, son, have you brought your friends with you?” their father asks, the second time that evening.

Aerion indulges him with a lowly smile while Rhaenyra snorts. “I have. Edd and Riuk, I have grown up with them since I was ten.”

“Oh, how beautiful!” Viserys exclaims then turns to look at Rhaenyra. “Your sister has experienced similar friendships. Her ladies are a much welcomed presence in the Red Keep.”

“I am sure they will appreciate hearing that, father.” Rhaenyra gives him a smile and goes back to her food. She sees Aerion giving her a look across from her and she gives one back.

“And Aerion, tell me, have you chosen a dragon for yourself or must Rhaenyra choose you an egg?” their father laughs as if he is the funniest man in the Realm.

Rhaenyra gulps down more of her soup as Aerion answers the question for the fourth time that night.

113 AC

“They wish to see me married off.”

Her father coughs from his bed. “You will be six and ten in two moons, Rhaenyra. You must marry.”

She thinks of telling him now, of how she loves Aerion, of how she will have only him. She decides not to. “I will marry. Just not yet father, please.” she says lowly, knows her father will agree. And he does.

When she goes to Aerion’s chambers that night, he is expecting her as he always is. She kisses him and stops him before he can do more.

“What is it?” Aerion asks concerned as his arms circle her.

“Are you worthy yet?” she asks, eyebrows raised. Aerion looks confused.

“Of what?”

“Of me.” Rhaenyra clarifies. She pulls him down for another kiss on the cheek that seems to leave him more confused. She can’t help but smile.

“I wish to think so.” Aerion says, head tilted as he assesses her. “Has someone said something to you? Has someone touched you? Does Ser Criston have a vengeful brother?”

Rhaenyra chuckles and rises on her toes to kiss him once more as she reveals her plan.“Let’s get married. Tonight, in the tradition of our house on Dragonstone. We can be back tomorrow night and it will be too late for anyone to stop us then.”

Her brother seems to not have been expecting that. “Married?”

Rhaenyra nods, suddenly anxious. “Do you not… want to? Father wishes to find someone for me, but I wish only for you. You have known this for a long time now.”

“Rhaenyra,” Aerion says, breathless as he lookd down at her. “You are the only woman I could ever think of marrying. You are the only one, you will always be the only one. Forever. I just wish for you to be sure, I do not want you to feel pressured into doing anything.”

Rhaenyra smiles gently and puts her hand on his neck, stroking his skin lightly. “I am sure, Aerion.”

Aerion watches her for a second, still astonished, before he leans down and kisses her harshly, lovingly. He brings two of his cloaks and wraps one around her, and Ser Harwin turns a blind eye as Rhaenyra almost runs into him on their way out.

She climbs atop of Grey Ghost with Aerion and mentally apologizes to Syrax as they take flight. The flight is quick and yet Aerion takes his time as he leans forwards and kisses her neck, his fingers searching beneath her nightgown. Rhaenyra does not wish to know what Grey Ghost is thinking in those moments.

They find someone to officiate their marriage quickly, as if by fate. When Rhaenyra cuts her palm and Aerion does the same, she blesses the Gods for making him as they did. His blood feels like fire on her lips and when they kiss, she feels whole. They are husband and wife and nobody can take him away once more. He is hers, will be forever.

Her rooms on Dragonstone are much more open, and the night air makes goosebumps rise on her skin as Rhaenyra takes the last of her clothes off. Aerion is transfixed and kisses every patch of skin possible, pulling her close almost as if he wished them to be merged into one.

“My wife.” he murmurs as he stares at her, his own bare chest glinting in the night.

“My husband.” Rhaenyra says, the words rolling in her mouth pleasantly.

He kisses her like a man starved and she knows she will never complain. He teases her with his fingers, but she is tired of it. She wants him now, with nothing in between them. She wants him as a wife wants her husband, she wants to know him not just as her lover but as her everything.

“No teasing, Aerion.” Rhaenyra murmurs breathlessly as he brushes his cock against her. Aerion grins down at her and leans down to kiss her neck as he slides in.

The pleasure comes quickly, as it always does with him. Rhaenyra locks her heels behind his back, moans and moans until she is sure the whole island can hear it. Her husband is none the quieter, his groans of pleasure matching hers. He pounds into her harshly and she asks for more, feels him in her stomach and begs him to go deeper. Her whole life she has been spoiled, she has wanted more. This is no different.

“Aerion, Aerion, please-” she says, breathless as the pleasure overcomes her. She clutches to him as she comes, both of their moans echoing as her husbands follows through. It is filthy and they are sweaty but Rhaenyra finds that she cherishes this moment more than anything else.

“Fuck, Rhaenyra.” he kisses down her body as he slips out of her, treats her like a jewel as he holds her against him. He looks down at her as if she was the answer to everything. “My wife. My wife.”

Later, when the sun starts to rise and they are still awake, Rhaenyra truly tells him for the first time. “I love you, desperately, hopelessly.”

She has shown him her love, has expressed it through actions but has never spoken the words. She told him of her wishes when they were on Dragonstone the past year, but there was never the proper time to act on them, to truly be with him in the open and not sneaking through tunnels. Now, as the sun shines on them and she lies naked on his chest, their silver hair glowing, she cannot help it anymore. She wants to say it every minute of every day, until he is sick of hearing it, until he is full of her love.

Aerion softens completely and brings her closer. He presses a kiss to her lips, then her cheek, then her forehead. “I cannot think when you are not near, Rhaenyra. Cannot breathe when you leave a room. I was made to love you.”

She kisses him again and again, until the sun starts to set once more and it is time to return to King’s Landing.

Their father tries to seem furious when he finds out, but it is pointless. It is one less issue for him, to try and round up every man in the Realm to compete for her hand. Otto Hightower’s stare is piercing but Daemon congratulates them.

“I might just take your example.” he says with a chuckle and Rhaenyra knows he would not hesitate to steal Laena Velaryon from beneath the waves of her home.

The King insists on a feast, on a proper wedding. Rhaenyra is dressed by her ladies and Margaret fawns over her dress, says she wishes she picked something similar for her wedding to Harwin Strong. Melina makes a gagging noise at the mention of Harwin but grows quiet when asked of Riuk. Elinda and Roslin braid her hair down her back in a way they have never done before, with designs that would surely take Rhaenyra a day instead of a few hours.

They are wed once more, with Aerion’s cloak on her shoulders. It is a Targaryen cloak, for he is of their blood and she is Heir of her House. Her name will not be changed, not ever.

Rhaenyra barely sees Aerion at the feast, though she dances with him just at the beginning and remembers his dazzling the whole night. She goes on to dance with everyone else, and she can hear her father’s low laughter even from between the crowd. He seems truly happy.

“I wished to congratulate you.” Riuk says as they dance.

Rhaenyra smiles easily at him. “Thank you, Riuk. I must thank you for protecting Aerion while at court too, mustn’t I? He wouldn’t have survived the Red Keep without you, and I would now be without a husband.”

Riuk shakes his head with a calm smile. “There is no need, Princess. And I am sure he would have managed.”

“Perhaps, but Lady Melina certainly would not have.” Rhaenyra laughs as she twirls away and watches Riuk land straight in Melina’s arms.

Edd is jumpier, though she does not doubt he has haid a few drinks already. He goes to press a kiss to her lips and Rhaenyra splutters a laugh.

“I am truly thrilled, Princess.” he says, a little slurred, but no less truthful. “He has not seemed so happy in a long, long time.”

“I am glad you approve, Edd.” Rhaenyra smiles as he twirls her. Her heart warms at his words. “What about you? Is there no one that has caught your eye?”

Edd seems to hesitate, but the drinks are strong and his tongue is loose. “You must not tell, Princess.”

“You can trust me.” Rhaenyra promises him.

But Edd’s eyes are straying somewhere else, and when Rhaenyra turns to look, she knows why he means to keep it a secret. Laenor Velaryon leans on a table, a drink in his hand as he speaks with a Lord. Yet his eyes strain to the dancers and when Rhaenyra catches his gaze, he hastily looks away.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Edd.” Rhaenyra says lowly. Edd gives a disgruntled sigh. Rhaenyra nudges his shoulder once and gives him a look. “I have heard that Laenor is looking for a new knight to train with, to bring back with him to Driftmark.”

Edd watches her silently and she simply smiles.

“I have come to steal my wife.” Aerion says as he comes between them. Rhaenyra gives him a smile before she shoots Edd one parting look.

“Speak with me if going with him is what you wish.”

Aerion gives her a confused look as they turn to dance and leave Edd behind, but Rhaenyra shakes her head with a smile and presses a kiss to his cheek.

When they attend Laena and Daemon’s wedding five moons later on Driftmark, Rhaenyra is glad to see Edd comfortably at Laenor’s back.

Her feet are sore by the end of the night, but Aerion is restless in their room and he cannot sleep for the life of him. She watches him from their bed as he walks around, finding things to do. Rhaenyra does not mind the view, because he is as handsome as it comes, but she does wish to sleep. She has been more exhausted lately.

“Please, Aerion, let’s sleep.”

He puts his hand forward instead. “Let us dance, my love.”

Rhaenyra groans as he pulls her from their bed and holds her against him. “We have danced the whole night. Why do it again?”

“Because now it is just the two of us.” Aerion says lowly as he presses his forehead to hers. Rhaenyra relents and they sway together, surrounded by the quiet.

She puts her hands around his neck and plays with his curls as Aerion presses fleeting kisses to her face and neck. She giggles slightly as they tickle and Aerion gives a fond grin as he continues.

“I wish for the dance to stop!” Rhaenyra calls after he has tickled her again. “I am tired and I will sleep, even if you do not wish to!”

Aerion gives a low smile. “Very well then. I shall simply sit on a chair and watch as you snore and shift in-“

But his words are interrupted immediately as Rhaenyra grips onto his shoulders and throws up on the front of his shirt without a warning. It takes Aerion two hours to calm her down and tell her he does not care about the shirt, only about her and her wellbeing, and it takes an additional hour for Rhaenyra to realize that she is with child.

Her first pregnancy is tiring and endlessly annoying.

After the announcement, in which her father rejoiced and Otto Hightower seemed to just sink further in his seat, came the fear and the memories of her mother, dead and drowning in blood.

“Do not even dare to think that I would let them bring a blade down on you.” Aerion says then, when she tells him of how her mother died as she touches her small bump, now four moons old. “I would rather never have children than see you dead because of one.”

It calms her dowm significantly, but never enough for her to find comfort in her first pregnancy. She grows big and swollen and her dresses do not fit. Elinda and Roslin are the only ones of her ladies that still have the time to constantly be with her, Margaret and Melina both married now and with their own duties.

Elinda is not much help, rattling only about facts read in books, but Roslin calms her her down and helps her stretch and eat and walk. It is nothing short of exhausting.

There are moments though, when Rhaenyra touches her stomach and she feels the babe inside her move and she is simply in awe of the life she and Aerion habe created.

“Hi, baby.” Aerion says one morning as he squeezes back in bed next to Rhaenyra, having just come back from dealing with a problem in the Kingsguard. With Daemon at Driftmark for the remaining of the moon, it is up to Aerion to deal with them.

“Are you greeting me or the baby?” Rhaenyra asks, already grumpy and needing to go to the bathroom. Her stomach is big and uncomfortable, especially in this heat.

Aerion leans on his elbow as he looks down at her and presses a fond kiss to her mouth, eyes loving. “You, of course.” he says lowly as he brushes her hair from her face. “The baby’s name is Egg.”

“Egg?” Rhaenyra asks, perplexed.

Aerion laughs when he sees her expression and sets a hand on her stomach, stroking it lovingly. “It seemed fitting in the moment. Egg Targaryen.”

It was decided long before Rhaenyra even fell pregnant that their children would be Targaryens and not take the name of their father. Aerion had never thought it an issue, but Rhaenyra is glad to not have to ask him about it again.

“You are not nicknaming our son Egg.” Rhaenyra deadpans.

“I feel it is a girl, my love.” Aerion says proudly and leans down to kiss her once more, holding her stomach and keeping her close. It is in moments like these that she feels most loved.

When she gives birth, screaming and crying and breaking Aerion’s hand at her side, she is smug to have been right. Her husband is emotional, watching Elinda clean their son before she puts him on Rhaenyra’s bare chest, but the first thing she says is simply to taunt Aerion.

“I told you it was a boy.” Rhaenyra tells him as their son suckles at her breast. He is small but his cry is loud and he has barely any white hair on his head.

Aerion gives a watery laugh as he strokes her sweaty hair, his face all blotchy and snotty as he tries to compose himself. “Of course that is what you think of, you smug woman.” he says and kisses her head. He looks at her like she is everything. “I have never been more in love with you than I am right now. I love you so very much, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra sighs, leans back into her husband and holds her son tighter against her. They name him Aegon, only because it is a funny reminder of his nickname.

When he is presented to the King, Aegon Targaryen cries even louder and Viserys cries with him. It is the happiest Rhaenyra has seen her father since her wedding.

“A true King.” their father tells them. Rhaenyra leans against Aerion and feels she can breathe a little lighter.

Aegon grows quickly with Rhaenyra always keeping him at her breast, never with a wet nurse. There is a tourney in his name and Rhaenyra can still remember the way Aerion had crushed a knight and crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. It had also been a way to have Daemon and Laena return to King’s Landing for some time, to which their uncle held their son and declared he would be a fine knight and husband to his future daughter.

Laena had laughed and patted her pregnant stomach, but as she held Aegon and stroked his hair, she seemed to come to the same conclusion as Daemon.

“He does seem as if he would cerish our daughter.” Laena had said to Daemon.

Rhaenyra’s uncle had laughed and given his wife a kiss on the head.

It is not easy, raising him. Rhaenyra cannot be more grateful for Elinda and Roslin, who had stayed by her side at every step. Melina and Margaret had been there too, though not as frequent as it once was. Rhaenyra supposed they could not be girls forever, and that was a sacrifice she had to make and accept.

“He is perfect.” Aerion would say whenever he had a chance. They would do this often, lay with Aegon on their bed, him in the middle as Rhaenyra and Aerion stood on either side of him and watched transfixed.

“He is.” Rhaenyra would always agree as she stroked her son’s head. She would then look up at her husband and he would be looking at her too and she would kiss him and be reminded again and again why she loved him.

Aegon walks when he is barely one. Rhaenyra goes after him in the hallways, her arms outstretched but her lips always twitching to smile. Aegon babbles and occasionally looks back to see if she is still following, but she always is.

When Aerion sometimes appears around the corner, Aegon always screams in glee. It is a sight Rhaenyra does not think she will ever get tired of, seeing Aerion make a face at their son as he lifts him up and smother his face with kisses. Nor will ahe ever get tired of the kisses she receives after from her husband, or of everything else after Aegon is finally asleep.

It happens when Aegon is just four moons shy of turning two. Rhaenyra kisses Aerion in the morning more than it is necessary and he tugs at her dress and touches her where he knows it feels good.

When she finally leaves their chambers, she leaves to take Aegon. He does not feel like walking that day so she holds him in her arms with no complaint. She always loves it when he is clingy, leaning his head on her shoulder and playing with one of her braids gently as they walk.

Rhaenyra presses another kiss to her son’s face as he giggles endlessly. “Muña! Muña!” he exclaims over and over. Rhaenyra does not remember clearly what her life was like before her son.

When she reaches her father’s chambers where she always has some tea with him and where he can play with Aegon in peace, she finds them eerily quiet.

Rhaenyra presses Aegon’s face into her shoulder and she goes further into her father’s chambers. He is in his bed, unmoving. Rhaenyra is reminded of her mother, dead in her bed. When she finally looks at her father’s face, she releases a shaky breath.

The King’s funeral is a grand affair. Rhaenyra has Syrax burn him and she watches mutely as her father turns to ash. She composes herself and turns to go to Aerion’s side, where he is holding Aegon on one hip and stroking his hair. Rhaenyra takes Aerion’s hand and squeezes tight as she leans her head lightly on his shoulder. She touches Aegon’s head faintly and he gives a low sound but does not leave his father’s arms.

Aerion turns to give her a low kiss on the head. “You are our Queen now, my love.”

She is crowned with the Conqueror’s Crown, forged with Fire and Blood. The people bow to her and she does not cower before their gazes, simply stands taller as the sun gleams through the windows and Syrax screeches from outside. She is glorious, she knows it, because she is a woman and she is their Queen and she will never be weak, not like her Father and not like anyone else that could have ended up on the Iron Throne. She will be the Queen this Realm needs, no matter the cost.

It is of no surprise then, that the first thing she does as Queen is replace Otto Hightower with Daemon Targaryen.